Forgotten Legacies
by Chemiclord
Summary: Espionage, betrayal, undercover agents, and of course your favorite cast of stars.  What more could you ask for?  Okay, maybe a lot more, but bear with me here, okay?
1. A New Reliever in the Bullpen

Author's note:  I'm not going to pretend to be an expert at this particular series, so be patient if I make some errors or mistakes along the way.  However, since my original works are going nowhere fast, I decided to oblige a cousin of mine who had been begging me for some time to try my hand at this…  Enjoy it if you can…

Episode 1:

A New Reliever in the Bullpen

JAG offices: 1154, August 23

__

            The day had seemed totally normal.  As a matter of fact, everything was so routine up until noon or so that Petty Officer Tiner had almost thought that today was yesterday.  Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie were in her office, looking over files and alternating pairs of chopsticks into a small bucket of Chinese with a synchronization that rivaled world champion figure skating pairs.  Lt. Roberts, wheelchair and all, were dutifully tapping away at his computer, researching god knows what.  Bud's wife, Harriet, was trying to drink the coffee that Colonel MacKenzie had made a half-hour ago.  Lt. Singer and Commander Turner had left for a verdict reading, and likely wouldn't be back for an hour.

            Indeed, things were going exactly as normal… if anything in the JAG offices could ever be labeled normal.  But everything was in its place, and nothing unexpected had cropped up.

            Then noon came around…

            Tiner was studying for his final bar exam, since the Admiral hadn't called him to perform any specific task recently.  So engrossed in his notes was the young man that he at first didn't hear the polite cough above him.  A second cough, slightly louder than the first, finally caught his attention.

            Tiner looked up, and regarded the uniformed officer above him.  The man was dressed in a neatly pressed deep blue Air Force uniform, complete with a rather impressive collection of ribbons.  The standard Air Force issue dress hat was tucked under his left arm, and on his left breast pocket was a midnight blue name tag with white lettering, "Major Harrington."  His brown, somewhat unruly hair contrasted his light blue eyes in a way that seemed almost unnatural.

            "Can I help you, sir?" Tiner asked.

            "Yes, I have a meeting with Admiral Chegwidden.  Could you direct me to his office?" The young officer replied.  The officer didn't appear to be much older than Tiner.

            "Follow me.  I'll let the Admiral know you are here." Tiner replied, and led the Air Force officer to Chegwidden's office.  He knocked on the door, and hearing the gruff voice on the other side bid enter, stuck his head in the door.

            "Sir…" Tiner began nervously.  There was something about the Admiral that always unnerved him, and it wasn't just rank.  "There is a Major Harrington to see you, sir."

            The Admiral's face seemed to light up in recognition.  "Send him in, Tiner."  Tiner turned to the officer, and motioned for the man to enter, closing the door quietly and getting as much distance from the office as possible.

Chegwidden's Office 

            The officer snapped to attention, and said, "Major Steve Harrington reporting for duty, sir."

            "At ease, Harrington.  Sit down." The Admiral answered, frowning slightly as Harrington took his seat.  Chegwidden gathered his thoughts before continuing, "I don't normally grant personal favors like this."

            "I don't normally accept personal favors, sir.  So perhaps we should just accept these exceptions to the rule and proceed?"

            AJ's frown turned upward, at least into a flat expression.  "Well… considering what happened with…"

            "It's in the past, sir.  You were doing your job, and did it well." Harrington answered.

            "Very well." The Admiral replied.  "I apologize that this was rather sudden, but they didn't put your name on the transfer list initially."

            "That was my fault, sir.  I didn't put my name on the list until I learned that it was the Virginia office that had an opening."

            "That… was my doing." Chegwidden admitted.  "I made the opening in the hope you would bite.  You've garnered quite a reputation quite quickly.  If you do what you did in Seattle… you'll do fine here."

            "Thank you, sir.  I'm looking forward to it." Harrington replied coolly.  "So… when do you want me to start getting ready?"

            "I'll have Tiner set up your desk, and I would like to have you set up by the end of the day.  That way I can start riding your six bright and early tomorrow." The Admiral finished that sentence with his first grin of the meeting.

            "I wouldn't have it any other way, sir." Harrington answered with an equally conspiratorial grin.

            "We haven't had an Air Force representative in this office for a while… so don't be too offended if you stand out somewhat."

            "I won't, sir."

            "Dismissed, Major."

            "Yes, sir!" Harrington replied, standing and saluting in the process.  As the young man turned to leave, Chegwidden spoke up once again.

            "One more thing… you'll have to share an office with one of our other JAG officers.  I hope that doesn't bother you."

            "Not at all.  Just who will I be sharing with?"

            "Lieutenant Loren Singer."

            Harrington blinked a couple times, then said, "Loren Singer?"

            "Are you familiar with that name?" Chegwidden queried.

            "If it's the same Loren Singer I'm thinking of… we had several legal courses together at Dartmouth."

            "Well then, you are probably well versed in her methods and attitudes then.  That will be all, Harrington."

            Harrington left the office with a smile on his face.  Soon after, he heard the Admiral ordering for his desk to be set up in Singer's office.  Stepping into the elevator leading to the ground floor, he left to gather up his office supplies…

JAG offices: 1235, August 23 

            Lt. Singer knocked on Admiral Chegwidden's door with the subtlety of a hurricane.  AJ sighed, knowing exactly who it was, and what she was going to complain about.  "Enter!"

            Sure enough, Lt. Singer stepped proudly inside, and demanded, "May I be so bold as to ask _why there is a second desk in my office?"_

            "We just received a transfer of a JAG officer from Seattle, and since you two are the lowest ranking advocates, you two are going to have to share your office."

            "I didn't know of any transfer, and why did you allow it knowing there wasn't adequate office space, sir?" Singer protested.

            "I only knew of this transfer two days ago myself, Lieutenant." Chegwidden answered.  "Secondly, the order came directly from the Joint Chiefs of Staff himself.  Apparently, they want this man here.  Rather than complain to me, I suggest you get used to it, since there isn't anything any of us can do about it."

            AJ was amazed that Singer didn't spontaneously combust as she stormed out of his office again, closing his door just a hint louder than politely acceptable.  The Lieutenant in question strode out into the middle of the bullpen, and watched in sick glee as the personnel slowly stepped away from her.

            "I want any information anyone has on this new JAG officer right here, right now!" Singer hissed loudly.

            Colonel MacKenzie stuck her head out of her office, and asked, "What's this about a new JAG officer?"

            "You didn't know either?" Singer mused, "Is there _no one who processes this information properly around here?"  She turned her venom towards Bud, who remained oblivious to it all.  "What do you know about this, Roberts?"_

            The banter then drew Commander Rabb's attention.  "What's going on out here?  I've got a mountain of paperwork, and can't concentrate with all the commotion."

            "According to Singer, a new JAG officer's been transferred here." Mac explained.

            The news spread like a prairie wildfire, and soon everyone had formed a loose circle around Singer.  Like Singer, no one seemed to have much information on the transferee, although Tiner did eventually speak up.

            "There was an Air Force officer here earlier meeting with the Admiral.  Come to think of it, the Admiral started ordering me to move stuff in the moment he left…"

            Singer nearly leaped on Tiner like a lion on a gazelle.  "So… he's Air Force, huh?  What was his name?"

            "I… I… don't remember…" Tiner replied.  The assembled bullpen silently mused whether or not Tiner's sudden amnesia was prompted by fear of having his soul devoured.

            "You know what?" Singer finally grated, "It doesn't matter who he is.  If he gets in my way, I swear I'll make him regret he ever came here."

            At that moment, a soft tenor replied, "Well… it's nice to see that you still have that fiery spirit, Loren."

            The assembled mass turned to face the source of the voice.  The Air Force officer that Tiner had met earlier stood at the entry to the bullpen, a large covered box in his hands, and a wry smirk playing across his smooth facial features.

            For all save one, the Air Force officer was just another new face.  But Singer obviously recognized him from somewhere.  She pushed through the mob, and strode up to the man with a disbelieving look.

            "Steve?" She asked in surprise, "_You're the JAG transfer?"_

            "Indeed.  I hope that you don't object to my presence." Harrington answered smoothly.

            Singer huffed, then exhaled, before adding without much venom.  "I suppose, since it's you, that it will be tolerable."

            There was an awkward silence in the bullpen for several seconds in which a pin drop could have been heard.  Finally, Harm leaned over to Mac, and whispered, "Did I just hear Singer say that something was tolerable?"  His reward for the joke was a swift elbow to his gut.

            "Quiet… she'll hear you." Mac whispered back.

            At that moment, Admiral Chegwidden leaned out his door.  "All right… what are you people up to?  We've got work that needs to be done.  Nice to see that you're here, Harrington.  Get settled in today, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

            "Yes, sir." Harrington called out, and once the Admiral returned to his office, the crowd slowly filtered back to their original duties.  "Oh yes…" Harrington suddenly stated, reaching into his box, and pulling out a small manila folder.  "Who do I give my personnel record to?"

            "I'll take it." Harriet replied, snatching the folder out of Harrington's hand.  "Lieutenant Harriet Roberts, sir." She added, holding out her hand.

            "Major Steve Harrington.  It's a pleasure." He replied casually.  Suddenly, Singer coughed, drawing Harrington's attention to her.  "Well, I must take my leave now, Lieutenant.  I shall no doubt see you later."

            As Harrington followed Singer into their office, Harriet commented, "Those two have a past."

            Bud smirked, and replied, "Gee, Harriet, what was your first clue?"

Break Room- 1310 

            Harrington poured himself a cup of coffee, but before he could take a sip, a tap on his shoulder drew his attention.

            "We didn't have the privilege of meeting earlier." The dark-skinned man in a Navy uniform stated, holding out his hand, "Commander Sturgis Turner."

            Harrington exchanged pleasantries with the commander, and Sturgis commented, "So you get to share an office with Lt. Singer?"

            "Yep, that's me."

            "I'm sorry."

            Harrington couldn't help but laugh at that.  "Oh, She's not so bad if she lets you get to know her."  With that, he took a long draw from his mug.  Seconds later, his face turned red, and he quickly turned to the sink, spitting out the liquid.

            Sturgis raised an eyebrow, and Harrington explained, "That marine Colonel made this coffee, didn't she?"

            Sturgis smirked, and replied, "How did you know?"

            "It's marine coffee, sir.  Thick sludge that numbs the brain so that they don't scream in horror at the reality of their duties."  His grin was almost infectious in itself.

            Sturgis's smirk grew a little wider, and he warned, "I sugest you don't say that in Colonel MacKenzie's presence, Major.  She'd roast your six.  I also suggest you learn how to swallow that sludge."  With a chuckle, Sturgis left the break room taking one long gulp out of his own mug.

Gainsborough Court; Fairfax, Virginia- 1855 

            Harrington sighed as he dropped the twentieth box of personal items into the living room of his new apartment.  "Yeesh… I have about 80% of my crap still in Seattle… how did I compile all these worthless goods?"  He muttered to himself

            Looking down at his watch, he figured that it would still be a couple days before the moving crew even left Seattle, then it would be another couple of days before they got here.  Plenty of time for him to worry about where everything was going to go.

            "If I could figure out where to _start_." He added ruefully.  This is why he hated long moves.

            Fortunately, a knock on his apartment door relieved him temporarily of his dilemma.  He answered the summons, and for a brief second, analyzed his visitors.  Harrington had always thought of himself as being rather tall, but the man in front of him had him by at least three inches.  The other was a shorter brown haired woman, and Harrington quickly suddenly recognized the pair as two officers who had floated around the mob as Harrington had arrived to move into his office.

            "Good evening… what can I do for you?" Harrington asked warily.

            "Good evening to you as well." The man replied, "I'm Commander Harmon Rabb, and this is Colonel Sarah MacKenzie."

            Harrington acknowledged them, and responded in kind before adding suspiciously, "How did you find this place?"

            "Lt. Sims decided to share your address with the bullpen." Mac replied with a sweet smile.  "She likes to keep everyone a close knit group."

            Harrington's face sank into a worried frown.  "I see…" After seven seconds, he slapped himself on the head, and said, "Where are my manners?  Would you like to come in?"

            "Sorry about the mess.  I just finished moving all the boxes from my Jeep in here."  Harrington explained.

            Harm smiled… a little too broadly for Harrington's comfort.  "Well, I think we have a couple hours to kill if you think you need a hand, right Mac?"

            "Certainly." The Colonel agreed.

            Harrington shrugged passively, and said, "If you want, I certainly won't say no.  Just open a box, and put them where you think best.  Most of the boxes should be marked."

            With that, the three dove right into the task at hand.  Harm found several pictures and diplomas along with other little pieces of memorabilia.  "So… you served in the Air Force, correct?"

            "Indeed I did." Harrington affirmed.

            "What did you do before you completed your bar exam?"

            "I was a test pilot, sir."

            This caught Harm's attention totally.  He stood up straight, and replied.  "No kidding… just what did you test?"

            Harrington thought about it for a second, then answered, "The D model of the F-16… the C model of the F-18… as well as the prototype for the F-22."

            "Ah… the Raptor.  Tell me, was it as good as the Air Force advertises?"

            "Well… at the time I flew it, there were still some bugs to work out, but once you got it full speed… it was like saddling the wind, sir."

            "I see." Harm mused.

            Mac then injected herself into the conversation, "Commander Rabb was a Navy fighter pilot before he turned lawyer, Mr. Harrington."

            "Really?  What did you specialize in?"

            "Most of my work was done in a Tomcat, but I occasionally jumped into an Eagle, depending on the mission.  Did you perform any combat duties, Harrington?"

            "Officially, I could say yes… but most of my combat duty was simply patrolling the northern Iraqi No-Fly Zone.  The sheer boredom was what pushed me to volunteer for test piloting, sir.  That, and the automatic promotion and priority status for legal courses…" He added with a smug grin.

            Harm's laugh was followed with, "You know what, Major… just call me Harm."

            "Only if you call me Steve."

            "Done."

            Mac snorted, "There is nothing more pathetic than two flyboys prattling on about planes."

            Harrington glanced in Mac's direction before asking, "Is the Colonel always this cynical and deriding, Harm?"

            Mac jumped to her feet indignantly and was about to reply when she noticed that the two were laughing amiably.  "Well, Commander… I'm glad you finally found a friend."

            Harm mocked being hurt, and said in a false sob, "That was low, Mac.  I'm scarred forever."

            At that point, Harrington turned on his fellow pilot.  "Are his feelings this easily hurt all the time, ma'am?"

            Mac chuckled, and replied, "No… not usually." Then she added, "You know, sense we're all being so chummy, just call me Mac when we're out of the office."

            "Okay… I'll try to remember that." Harrington nodded, meanwhile processing his superiors' actions.  'No wonder Loren has such a foul demeanor here.  She's not used to such a casual atmosphere.'

            Mac had turned back to the box she had been sorting through, when she came across an old faded picture in an antique wooden frame.  "Is this your mother?" Mac asked.

            Harrington paused, his smile quickly disappearing.  "Yeah… I don't remember her that well though.  She died when I was rather young."

            "Oh… I'm sorry." Mac apologized, and began again, "What about your father?"

            At that point, Harrington got _very_ nervous.  "Umm… can we talk about something else, please?"  He took the photograph of his mother, and carried it into his bedroom.  An awkward silence was averted as he appeared into the living room again just as another knock came from his now open door.

            "Hello, hello!" Harriet called out as she stepped inside the apartment, wheeling along a man that Harrington had seen in the office, as well as a young boy that he assumed was related to them.  "Sure… come on in…" Harrington muttered under his breath, but quickly regained his composure.

            "I just thought I'd drop by a little housewarming gift for our new co-worker."  Harriet explained.  The man in the wheelchair handed Harrington a large fruit basket, and said, "Bud Roberts.  It's a pleasure."

            Harrington introduced himself, and then kneeled down in front of AJ.  "Who is this little trooper?"

            "That's our son, AJ." Bud answered.

            "Oh." Harrington replied, standing again.  'Two officers in the same office married with children?  I'm surprised Loren didn't have a coronary…'

            Harriet then cut in, "I heard about how you have to share an office with Lt. Singer.  I am so sorry."

            Harrington frowned in concern.  "That isn't the first time I've heard that sentiment.  Is she really that bad?"

            "She has been… a special treat to deal with at times." Mac interceded.  Harm's slight nod confirmed the Colonel's observation.  Harriet herself seemed to be a shade short of homicidal upon mention of Loren's name, and Bud seemed to also reflect a slight distaste.  AJ was totally oblivious, looking in amazement at some of Harrington's aviation posters that Harm had unpacked.

            "Yes… she had that element to her… professional to a fault, and solely dedicated on her goals to the point of absurdity.  I figured she was starting to grow out of it when we graduated, but apparently not." Harrington commented with a wistful sigh.

            "How do you know Lt. Singer?" Mac asked, curious.

            "We shared several courses at Dartmouth's School of Law.  I guess you could say she was a friend of mine…"

            Another knock then drew Harrington's attention, and he discovered Admiral Chegwidden standing outside his door.  "Am I holding a housewarming party that I didn't know about?" He smirked.

            "Just stopped by to see how you were settling in, Major, but it appears that you have plenty of company already."

            "A housewarming party!" Harriet suddenly exclaimed, "That's a wonderful idea!  You'll have to let me know when you are all settled in, sir.  I can plan everything!"  The assembled guests struggled with laughter as an overwhelmed Harrington patiently listened to all of Harriet ideas for decorations and catering.

            Chegwidden approached Harm and Mac while Harriet was occupying Harrington, and asked quietly.  "So… what's your opinion so far?"

            "If he can get along with Singer, I think he can get along with _anyone_." Mac appraised.

            "I think he's a pretty solid fellow.  Depending on how he does in the courtroom, he could potentially be a great asset."

            At that moment, Harrington received another visitor.  Singer knocked, then lurched back as she saw the assembly.  "Oh… I didn't realize you had company, Steve.  I'll let you get on with whatever you were doing."

            "Nonsense.  Come on in, Loren." Harrington replied.

            Singer shook her head, then jut out her chin defiantly, "No, I think it's best if I just see you tomorrow morning.  Good evening everyone."  With that she quickly strode away before Harrington could make it to the door.

            Harrington sighed in disappointment.  "Well… if all of you want to help me unpack, you're more than welcome to stay, but if not, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave.  I've got a lot of things to get done before it gets too late."

End Episode One 


	2. First Starting Job

Author's note: For the reader's information, some scenes in this following episode contains strong language, and inflammatory comments, and may be offensive to some people.  These words or phrases do not reflect the opinions of the author.

Second Author's note: Thank you for all the feedback regarding some mistakes I made.  They have been corrected in this chapter, and will eventually be corrected in the first as well.

**Episode 2:**

First Starting Job JAG Headquarters- 0830, August 24 

            "And what was that little get together about?" Singer demanded as Harrington walked into her (and Harrington's) office.  "Didn't take you long to start making a lot of friends."  She was already at work, most likely arriving even earlier than he did.

            Harrington closed his eyes for a second, and did what he did best when dealing with an irate Loren Singer…  he ignored her.

            "What sort of nasty things did they say about me while you rubbed elbows with all of them, huh?" Singer interrogated as Harrington sat down, booting up his computer.  She stood, and planted her palms against the other side of his desk, leaning over at him.

            "I also noticed you didn't exactly rush out to try and convince me to stay.  Some friend you are." She snorted indignantly.  At that moment, she realized that Harrington wasn't responding.  "Hey!  I'm talking to _you, Steve!"_

            Finally, Harrington looked up to meet his officemate's glare.  "I'd certainly _hope so, Loren.  There's no one else here." A wry smirk gently crept up his lips, and Lt. Singer could feel her anger dispelling._

            "Stop that!" Singer demanded.  "I'm angry at you, in case you hadn't noticed."

            Harrington stood, and his mouth formed what Singer swore was his patented, understanding grin she had received so many times as his fellow legal student.  "Loren, I wasn't going to ask you to stay in a situation which made you feel uncomfortable, and before you start, the other JAG officers make you uncomfortable."

            "They do not!" Singer replied defensively, "They just don't like me that much.  I know what they say about me when they think I'm not listening."

            "Actually, Loren… you barely came into the conversation at all.  Lt. Sims mentioned you first, and everybody else just sort of nodded.  Outside of that, you weren't discussed in any way."

            Harrington's eyes rolled upward in thought before he added, "Just what did you _do to Lt. Sims that got her to the brink of committing homicide?"_

            Singer frowned, and replied, "Her husband lost his right leg while in Afghanistan, and I took his place as legal advisor on the U.S.S. Seahawk for a while." Then she sheepishly admitted, "We've also had some petty squabbles…"

            Singer looked up, her eyes narrowed, and she thought, 'There's that damned understanding grin of his again.'  To her surprise, Harrington said nothing.  Instead, he sat back down, and started typing on his computer.  "Just what are you doing?" Singer asked.

            "Composing an e-mail for my former co-workers… letting them know I made it to Virginia and am in good health.  You know, the usual pleasantries."

            "Well then… don't let me interrupt.  Under Admiral Chegwidden, you better get used to not have any personal time."

            "Speaking of personal time…" Harrington began, "How about I make it up to you for last night?  You can stop by this evening, and I can cook you dinner.  How does that sound?"

            "You've got yourself a guest."

_0900_

            Petty Officer Tiner slowly stuck his head into Singer and Harrington's office.  "Lt. Singer, the Admiral wants you in his office, ma'am."

            "Very well." Singer said defiantly, standing up and smoothing out her skirt.  

As she was about to leave, Harrington spoke up.  "Now remember, be nice, Lieutenant."

            "I'll try…" Singer replied not so sweetly.

            "Oh, but the way, Petty Officer, when you get a chance, will you ask the Admiral just when he thinks 'bright and early' is?"

            Tiner blinked at the request, but eventually decided to pass the message along.  After all, he had been in Singer's office for almost an hour, and was still alive.  He must be a very formidable person indeed.

            Singer entered the Admiral's office to see Colonel MacKenzie, and Commanders Rabb and Turner already waiting for the typical beginning of the day check-in and assignment.

            Before the Admiral could begin however, Tiner spoke.  "Sir, Major Harrington just wanted me to ask you when you thought 'bright and early' was, sir."

            To the officer's surprise, Admiral Chegwidden started chuckling.  "Tell that eager kid that I will address him personally when I am done here.  Tomorrow morning, he can get used to joining the rest of us for these opening meetings."

            Singer inwardly sighed in relief.  It was going to be nice to know that she wouldn't be completely without support in these meetings from now on.  Tiner then left, and the Admiral began on the day.

            "All right, we have one new case that dropped into my mailbox when I came in.  Two officers, who happen to be related, had a misunderstanding in Norfolk, and it prompted a bar fight.  The Marines would like to keep this under wraps considering that the two officers were rather high rank, so keeping this case out of trial would be preferable." Admiral Chegwidden explained, handing one folder to Colonel MacKenzie, and another to Commander Turner.  "Rabb, Mac, you'll be defending.  Turner and Singer will prosecute.  Any questions?"

            Turner didn't look too happy about the arrangement, but definitely wasn't going to complain out loud.  Singer silently fumed; Turner and her had never had the best of relations.

            "All right, any news on previous cases?"

            Colonel MacKenzie spoke up, "The People vs. Private Simmons is making its closing arguments at 1100.  I should have a guilty verdict by 1300."

            "Confident, aren't ya, Mac?" Rabb commented.

            "Of course, Commander."

            "All right, fine." The Admiral cut in.  "Anything else?"  When no one responded, he ordered, "All right, get to work, and tell Tiner to send Major Harrington in."

            Five minutes later, Harrington appeared in Chegwidden's office, a smile broadly plastered on his face.  'Well, I'll soon take care of that…' the Admiral thought to himself.

            "You called for me, sir?" Harrington queried with a salute.

            Chegwidden ordered him at ease, and handed the Air Force officer a case folder.  "Your first case as a member of JAG.  Be warned, it isn't exactly an easy one.  Two enlisted men got into a skirmish on an airfield in Trenton, and Corporal Todd Hunter used a racial slur in the scuffle, and is now facing charges of racial discrimination pertaining to the incident.  You'll be defending Corporal Hunter."

            "Very well, sir.  Is there anything else?"

            "No… I think I'll start you off light.  I'll probably have some more files for you tomorrow morning.  You'll need to be in my office at 0900 every morning for a briefing with the rest of the JAG officers."

            "I understand, sir." Harrington replied.

            "Dismissed, Major."

            "Aye aye, sir." He said with a salute and a smile.

            Once Harrington left, Chegwidden leaned back shaking his head.  "So much for wiping that smile off his face…" He muttered before returning to his workload.

Break Room- 0925 

            Harrington looked down at the coffee machine warily, and the fresh pot that sat almost completely full.  Indecision floated across his face until he saw Petty Officer Tiner step into the break room.  "Pardon me, Petty Officer… did Colonel MacKenzie make this coffee?"

            "No… Lt. Sims did."

            "Okay, thank you." Harrington replied, greedily snatching the pot from its warmer, and filling his mug almost to the brim.

            "Why?  Is something wrong with my coffee, Major?"

            Harrington froze.  Remembering Commander Turner's advice, he quickly formulated an out.  "Oh no, ma'am.  As a matter of fact, I'm a little disappointed.  I've heard such amazing things about the coffee that comes from a Marine's hands."

            From just outside the break room, Commander Rabb burst into a full-throated laugh.  The Colonel's eyes narrowed, "Right…" she added disbelievingly, before playfully punching Harrington on the shoulder, fortunately not the one holding his coffee mug.

            "Just get out of here so you can take your foot out of your mouth, Major." Harm stated as he entered the break room.  Seeing his opportunity for escape, Harrington slipped out of the break room as quickly as courtesy allowed.

            "You know, Mac… you could correct all this easily.  Just make a pot of normal coffee." Harm chided as he took the pot off the warmer, filling up his mug.

            Mac snatched the pot from his hands, and took her turn.  "Hey, I like a rich, strong coffee.  It's not my fault you flyboys don't have any hair on your chest."

            "And you do?  That's just wrong."

            "I most certainly do not!  Do you want me prove it to you?"

            Harm coughed, taken aback for a split second before replying with a devious smirk, "I'll take your word for it."

            Just outside the break room, Harrington's face was contorted in a peculiar grimace.  He was getting a clearer perspective of Loren's discomfort here.  The Loren Singer he knew would have vomited on the spot from such an unprofessional exchange.

            "Don't mind them, sir." Lt. Sims said sweetly, "They're just flirting… even if they don't realize it yet."

            Harrington blinked, and raised his hand requesting Harriet to stop.  "No… don't go any further… I don't want to know…"

            Harrington didn't get much further before Commander Turner entered his field of vision.  "Major… can I ask you to do something for me?"

            "I'll do what I can." Harrington replied.

            "I've been assigned to this case with Lt. Singer… and well… we don't get along very well.  As a matter of fact, to be perfectly blunt, I can't stand her.  I was wondering if you could take the case off my hands."

            Harrington regarded the commander for a moment.  The discomfort Sturgis showed in his request revealed a man who obviously didn't like handing off his work to someone else, but at the same time realized that if there was a way he could avoid working with Loren, he was best to take it.

            "Certainly." Harrington finally replied, accepting the case folder in Sturgis's hand.  "But _you can report this change to the Admiral.  I'm certainly not going to put my six in the crosshairs."_

            Sturgis grinned, and agreed to the stipulation.  With that, Harrington was able to return to his office, coffee in his hand, without further incident.

_Chegwidden's Office- 1033_

            Harrington amended his thoughts of further incidents as he sat across from the Admiral yet again.

            "I wanted your workload light, today, Major."

            "It's no bother, sir.  I have no problems being dropped in the mix right away.  It's also a good thing to establish a good rapport with my other officers as well.  One way of doing that is doing favors for them, correct?"  Harrington replied with his eerily omnipresent grin.

            "Yes, you are right." The Admiral replied slyly.  He reached down behind his desk, and emerged with a stack of files about 6 inches thick.  "And since you said yourself that you don't mind getting dropped in the mix, you can look over these for me while you're establishing a good rapport with Commander Turner."

            Harrington's expression went totally flat in disbelief.  "No problem, sir.  I'll get right on it."  Meanwhile, the Air Force officer added to himself, "Me and my big mouth…"

            "Dismissed, Harrington." Chegwidden stated, and as the young officer left his office, thought, "Finally got rid of that creepy smile…"

_Interview Room 1- 1410_

            "Now, remember… I'll take the lead in this negotiation, understand, sir?" Lt. Singer stated.

            "No problem, Lieutenant." Harrington replied.  One of his tricks with dealing with Loren; let her play her game, and just keep her on the straight and narrow whenever possible.

            Seconds later, Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb entered the interview room, and sat down across the table.  Mac kicked things off, "All right, we're dealing with a minor scuffle between two brothers.  The fact that other people in the bar decided to start fighting is irrelevant.  Let's say 1 month relief of duty."

            "1 year relief of duty." Singer replied, "These 'two brothers' are Marine officers, and are expected to set a good example for those under them, as well as to the community."

            "Oh come on, Lieutenant.  We were told to _avoid a trial here.  They were brothers who got over competitive, and it led to some shoving.  They have no control over the rest of the bar." Rabb cut in, his voice chiding._

            "On the contrary, all it takes is a little shoving to get a whole bunch of tipsy men to exchanging blows."

            "Lieutenant, do you know how brothers act?  This sort of thing happens.  You can't hold them responsible for everyone in the bar either."

            "As a matter of fact, Commander, I have two brothers of my own, and they stopped hitting each other when they turned 12."

            Mac was about to intervene when all three of them were distracted by Harrington's distressed sigh.  He dropped his head into his left hand before saying, "Lieutenant… you're an only child."

            All three of them stopped cold, until Singer regained herself.  "Major, can I see you outside… _right now?"_

            Harrington nodded, and said, "If you could excuse us, sir?  Ma'am?" Upon receiving their permission, Harrington followed Singer out of the interview room.

            Loren suddenly whirled around, and demanded angrily, "Just what do you think you are doing?"

            Harrington put his hands on his hips, and said flatly, "You were lying to them, Loren.  I'm not going to let you do that."

            "It was just to shut Commander Rabb up!  I get sick of his pomposity in negotiation."

            "Then let Commander Rabb ramble!" Harrington answered, "His braggadocio isn't going to change anything."

            "You don't understand, Steve… you've never understood." Loren said softly.  "I can't let him bully me… not if I want to become JAG."

            "Oh, for heaven's sake." Harrington sighed, and placed his hands on Loren's shoulders, saying softly, "Don't do this to yourself.  I've told you before; you're a talented lawyer, just let your skills do the talking, and you'll do fine."

            "You make it sound so easy…" Singer began.

            "Because it _is easy, Loren." Harrington interrupted, "Now, let's go back in there, and do this right.  Okay?"_

            "Why don't you want me to get what we're asking for?" She suddenly challenged.  "Are you trying to make me look bad for your benefit?"

            Harrington tilted his head slightly, and increased the pressure on Singer's shoulders slightly.  "Come on, you don't honestly believe that, do you?  You know me better than that."

            "Yeah… I suppose." Singer sighed in resignation.  "I suppose you want to take first in this case now?"

            "Actually, no.  However, I want you to keep an eye on my signals.  I would also like it if you apologized to Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb."

            "_What?" The old Lt. Singer returned in a heartbeat.  "You want me to __demean myself in front of them?"_

            Once again, Harrington flashed her that reassuring grin.  "Not at all.  An apology from you will likely take them off guard, and possibly make them more malleable to our position."

            Singer smiled upon that rationalization.  "I just remembered why I like you, Steve…"

            Harm and Mac's eyes lifted to the doorway as Harrington and Singer entered.  Singer took a deep breath, and folded her hands in front of her before saying, "Colonel, Commander, I want to apologize for my actions earlier.  They were unprofessional and uncalled for."

            The two senior officer's jaws just about hit the floor.  Harrington, seeing their reaction, requested, "Shall we continue, sir?  Ma'am?"

            Jerked back to reality, Mac answered, "Yes.  Let's get this over with."

            Singer then took control again, "We'll go down to 8 months relief of duty."

            Suddenly, Harrington piped up, stroking his cheek with three fingers.  "Are you sure we need to go _that high, Lieutenant?"_

            Mac and Harm's eyes then turned to Singer, who drummed the table with four fingers.  "I think it's important that these two officers learn a lesson, sir."

            "Ah, I see." Harrington replied, tapping his thigh with three fingers.  He then pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose with the index and middle finger of his other hand, and added, "But there are other ways to get a lesson across."  Finally, his hand rested on his chin, his index finger and thumb forming a small letter "c" on his face.

            "Yes… I suppose you're right." Singer acknowledged.  "We won't go any lower than 3 months relief of duty, and 200 hours community service."

            Mac and Harm looked at each other in amazement.  "Sounds good to me." Mac stated, "We'll run it by our clients."

            Suddenly, Harm's lips turned up in a smile.  "Hey, Colonel, why don't we have any neat hand signals?"

            "Maybe next time, Commander." Mac shot back in a tone like a mother talking to a disappointed child.

            Harrington then stood, and said, "Well, unless we have some further business to discuss, I do have other cases to prepare.  May we take our leave?"

            "Of course, Major.  I just hope we don't have to get together on this case again."

_Bullpen- 1500_

            "Had I not seen it with my own eyes, Bud, I would never have believed it." Mac began.  "Major Harrington called Lt. Singer on a mistruth of hers, and then they went outside for a few minutes."

            "How many pieces was the Major in afterwards, Colonel? Bud asked.

            "That's where it gets incredible.  Singer yelled for about 20 seconds, then he somehow calmed her down.  When they returned, he had somehow convinced her to apologize to Commander Rabb and I, and then she negotiated smoothly the rest of the way."

            "Wait… are we talking about Major Harrington, or the Second Coming of Christ?"

            "As much as I am flattered by your comparison, Lt. Commander Roberts, I think I'm beginning to understand why Lt. Singer doesn't always like being around some of you." Harrington's voice interrupted.

            "Pardon, Major?" Mac asked.  She had been almost certain that Harrington had a smile permanently fused to his face.  So much so that she was a little shocked to see his current facial expression, a dark scowl.

            "Maybe I should explain first that your reputation preceded you, ma'am.  Out of anyone, I would think you would understand the best how hard it is to live with a troubled past."

            Mac was rendered speechless, partly from what was said, and partly from who it was saying it.  Suddenly, the scowl disappeared, to be replaced with a tired grin, "Then again, in your defense, Lt. Singer probably hasn't told anyone one whit about what she's been through, has she?"

            "Like what?" Mac asked, very curious.

            "If Lt. Singer hasn't told you, then I don't think it's my right to do so, ma'am." Harrington declined, "However, I would just like you to realize that people are the way they are for a reason.  They don't just pop out of the womb with a certain manner.  Just, please keep that in mind, ma'am."

            "I'll try, Major." Mac replied.  She didn't want to upset Harrington unnecessarily, since he seemed like such a likeable young man.  "You know, are you free this evening?  Some of us in the office are getting together, and I would be honored if you'd join us."

            Harrington's smile almost instantly returned in full force.  He rubbed the back of his head, and said sheepishly, "As tempting as that offer is, ma'am, I already made plans for Lt. Singer to see my new apartment, and have some dinner there.  Perhaps some other time?"

            "You can count on it, Major."

_U.S. District Court, Norfolk, VA- 1316, August 27_

            Admiral Chegwidden entered the courtroom just as the current trial was about to resume.  To his surprise, he discovered Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie already in the spectator section.

            The Admiral took a seat next to them, and they greeted him in typical fashion.  Returning the greetings, Chegwidden asked, "So, just why are you two here?"

            "The same reason as you, sir." Mac replied, "We want to see Major Harrington in action."

            The chamber doors entered again, and Lt. Singer strode down the rows of the spectator section.  Her eyes met with her co-workers, before she quickly sat down in the row directly behind them.

            Less than a half minute later, the presiding judge once again called the chamber to order, and the case resumed.  The prosecutor stood, and said, "The prosecution calls Private First Class Michael Soderstrom to the stand."

            A pilot in dress blues stood up, and took his place at the witness stand.  After being sworn in, the prosecutor began.  "Did you witness the fight from its inception to its conclusion?"

            "Yes, I did." Private Soderstrom answered.

            "After the start of the fight, did Corporal Hunter say the words, 'Fuck you, dumb nigger, you are going to pay for that'?"

            "Yes, he did.  It was right after Corporal Tucker broke Corporal Hunter's nose."

            "I see." The prosecutor said smugly, "Your witness, counsel."

            As Harrington stood, Harm, Mac, and Chegwidden noticed Lt. Singer leaning towards them.  She then whispered, "Cross examination is Major Harrington's strength, sir, ma'am."

            Harrington approached the witness, and asked, "Private Soderstrom, are you married?"

            The prosecutor immediately jumped to his feet.  "Objection!  Relevance!"

            Harrington smoothly turned to the judge, and replied, "I am trying to establish an analogy, if I may, your honor."

            "Overruled, but don't take too long to make your analogy, counsel." The judge warned.

            "Thank you, your honor." Harrington replied politely before turning to the witness again.  "Will you answer the question?"

            "Yes, I am married." Private Soderstrom answered.

            "Have you ever said particularly nasty or perhaps derogatory things to your wife in the middle of a heated argument?"

            The private flushed, and shifted nervously in his seat.  "Yes, I suppose I have, sir."

            "What sort of things, Private?"

            Once again, the prosecutor jumped up.  "Objection!  Badgering the witness!"

            "Sustained." The judge ordered, "There is no need for specifics, Major."

            Harrington nodded politely, and turned back to the witness.  "These things you said to your wife in the heat of the moment… afterwards, did you really mean them?"

            Private Soderstrom once again shifted in his seat.  "No, I suppose I didn't sir.  Well, I guess when I was angry, I did… but afterwards, I understood that it was very unfair."

            "Thank you, Private." Harrington said calmly, then turned to the judge, "No further questions, your honor."

            The prosecutor stood again, and said, "The prosecution calls Colonel David Madison to the stand."

            The commanding officer took the oath, and then the prosecutor began.  "When you heard of the incident involving Corporals Tucker and Hunter, did you immediately press for Corporal Hunter's discharge?"

            "No, I did not."

            "When did you call for Corporal Hunter's discharge?"

            "When I had learned that he had used a racist slur during the fight."

            "Why is that?"

            "Because the military must hold high standards in conduct, especially in our dealings with each other.  We're all a team out there, and we can't be dividing ourselves by making derogatory comments to people simply based on race or creed, among other things."

            "So, in your opinion, discrimination of any type is a serious offense?"

            "Correct.  People who display such intolerant attitudes need to be properly reprimanded."

            "Your witness, counsel."

            Harrington once again stood, and approached the officer.  "So, Colonel, you feel that racist comments are extremely damaging?"

            "Yes, I do."

            "And am I correct when you said people who make such comments need to be properly reprimanded?"

            "Yes, you are correct."

            Harrington nodded, then stepped over to his desk, and taking a sheet of paper from his briefcase.  "The defense would like to present a transcript featuring Colonel Madison during a meeting with officials of the U.S. Border Patrol."

            The judge took the transcript, perused the sheet, and then returned it, "I'll allow it."

            "Objection!  The prosecution was not made aware of any transcript!"

            "A transcript is considered a written public record, prosecutor.  The defense needs not to present public record to the prosecution." The judge replied sharply.  "I suggest you take great care when objecting to _my decisions in the future."_

            The prosecutor sat down, somewhat sulking, as Harrington looked for the section he wanted to recite.  "Colonel, did you or did you not say on July 17, 1999 that 'we need to make sure that no more job-robbing wetbacks get into this country'?"

            The Colonel's face went ashen, before finally admitting, "Yes… I did say that."

            "Is it true that two days later, you retracted the statement?"

            "Yes."

            "Did you receive any reprimand whatsoever for the statement?"

            "No, I did not."

            "So, on what grounds do you call for Corporal Hunter's discharge just one day after the incident?"

            There was silence from the witness on the stand before he eventually muttered, "I don't know."

            "No further questions, your honor." Harrington stated, returning to his seat.

            The prosecutor once again stood, rubbing his temples, and said, "The prosecution rests, your honor."

            The judge examined the scene, and said, "There will be a ten minute recess, and then we will proceed the defense calling of witnesses."

            As the spectators and counsel stood up to either relieve themselves, stretch, or converse amongst themselves, Admiral Chegwidden turned to his three officers and asked, "What are your opinions of the direction Major Harrington is trying to take this case?"

            "It's probably the best option he has." Mac commented, "He just about destroyed any credibility Colonel Madison might have had for making a motion to discharge."

            "It's the tack I would take in this situation.  Create analogies and parallels that establish that the people making the decision are in no position to make said decision." Harm stated thoughtfully.

            "It's a bit of an unorthodox move, but I think it's the only reasonable option Major Harrington has to win this case." Singer added.  "He needs to be careful though.  All it takes is one wrong move, and he'll lose any support in the jury he might have stirred."

            To his officers' feedback, Admiral Chegwidden merely nodded.

            At that moment, Harrington caught the eyes of his fellow JAG officers, and gave them a small wave.  The four returned the greetings and Harrington turned his attention back to his work.

            As the judge returned to his stand, Lt. Singer had one more observation.  "Major Harrington's case should be concluded rather quickly.  He doesn't like calling many witnesses.  He doesn't like giving his opponent the last word too much."

            "Defense counsel, you may call your first witness."

            Harrington stood, and said, "The defense calls Corporal Jeremy Tucker to the stand."

            This drew a series of murmurs and even Harrington's four JAG co-workers were a little taken aback by the move.  Once the Corporal in question had taken his oath, Harrington began his questioning.

            "Had Corporal Hunter made any racial slurs to you or anyone else before your fight?"

            "Not to my knowledge, sir." The Corporal replied blandly.

            "Did you believe him to be a racist before the fight?"

            "No, I don't believe so, sir."

            "Do you think him to be a racist now?"

            "I'm not sure if I can answer that, sir."

            "Try."

            "Considering when it was said, and from previous encounters with Corporal Hunter… I'd have to say no, sir."

            "Thank you, Corporal." Harrington said politely, "Your witness, prosecutor."

            The prosecutor approached the stand, and began his cross-examination.  "Corporal, what do you think it takes to be a racist?"

            "I'm uncertain what you mean." Corporal Tucker replied, somewhat uncertain of what was being asked.

            "Does it require a pattern of behavior?  Or can one incident effectively spotlight prejudices that exist in the person?"

            "I don't know, sir… I'm not a psychologist."

            "To quote our friend Major Harrington, 'try'."

            Harrington slowly stood, and firmly said, "Objection, badgering the witness."

            "Sustained." The judge stated firmly.

            The prosecutor sighed, as if his course of questioning relied on pressing further.  "No further questions, your honor."

            Harrington then called his next witness.  "The Defense calls Admiral A.J. Chegwidden to the stand."

            The disbelief over Harrington's first witness was dwarfed at the calling of his second.  The murmurs became so loud that the judge had to smack his gavel several times to bring the chamber to order.

            Once order was restored, the prosecutor was objecting yet again.  "A Navy Admiral has _no relevance __whatsoever to the incident at hand!"_

            "I am merely trying to establish another parallel for my case, your honor.  In that regard, you could say that the Admiral's relevance to the incident is… irrelevant."

            The judge scratched his forehead before ruling, "If the Admiral wishes to take the stand, he may."

            "Well?  What are you waiting for, sir?" Mac said with a gentle nudge, "You've said before we should help out our own whenever possible."

            Slowly, Admiral Chegwidden rose, and walked down the spectator section to the stand.

            It was everything Harm could do to keep from laughing out loud.  "I get a feeling this is going to be classic."

            "One doesn't need to be psychic to know that." Mac agreed with a broad grin.

            At that moment, Harrington began his questioning, "Admiral, you served in Vietnam, correct?"

            "Yes… I did." Chegwidden had the look of a deer caught in the headlights of a truck.

            "Am I correct to assume that there were a plethora of derogatory statements that soldiers used to describe their Vietnamese opponents, correct?"

            "Yes, I could say there were."

            "Did you, or do you, consider any of your fellow soldiers who used such terms to be racist?"

            "Some of them, perhaps… but not a majority."

            For a moment, it looked like Harrington was going to press further, but then he stopped.  Instead, he calmly asked, "In your opinion, knowing the sort of things that had said in your days of soldering, would you have called for a discharge of a person after one incident?"

            "Probably not."

            "Thank you, sir." Harrington concluded.  "Your witness, prosecutor."

            The prosecutor then began, "Would you agree, Admiral, that the racial climate in this nation is different now than it was when you served in Vietnam?"

            "Yes, I would."

            "So, would you also agree that the consequences for using racial slurs are different now than when you served?"

            "Yes, I would."

            "Then, taking that into account, would you then also agree that maybe the action of discharge taken by Colonel Madison was the proper decision?"

            "No."

            "Why would that be, Admiral?"

            "People make mistakes, prosecutor.  They say things they shouldn't have said, or things they don't mean.  One incident should not be made to determine just what sort of person a person is."

            The prosecutor took a step back, realizing that he had gone one question too far.  "No further questions, your honor."

            Harrington then stood, and stated, "The defense rests, your honor."

            "Very well, unless one of you wishes for another recess, we can proceed into closing arguments."

            "I see no reason to stop, your honor." Harrington said.

            "Nor do I." The prosecutor agreed.

            "Very well, prosecutor, you have the floor." The judge stated, gesturing for the lawyer to address the jury.

            The prosecutor smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket, and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, despite my opponent's statements, there are no excuses for the use of such hateful terms as the one Corporal Hunter used.  They demean fellow human beings, and are only used with express intent to cause harm."

            "You all must make a statement that people will not get away with this sort of behavior, especially in our military, where teamwork and trust is vital not just in completing a mission, but in living to see another day."

            "There is no debate what Corporal Hunter said, and thus there cannot be any debate as to what must be done.  You must uphold the decision for a dishonorable discharge."

            Once completed, the prosecutor took his seat, and Harrington stood to make his closing argument.

            Rolling his shoulders back slightly, Harrington began:

            "Racism is a terrible thing, this is true, and there is also no denying that words like the words uttered by Corporal Hunter are degrading, and can have very little other connotation than that of an insult."

            "However, I think that I have proven that Corporal Hunter is by no means alone in this issue.  Colonel Madison has made racist comments in the past, but he was allowed to retract his statement without any ramifications."

            "But I have no problem with that, to be honest.  That isn't wrong.  Every so often, people say the wrong things, or they say things that they know they really shouldn't.  To condemn a person based on one incident, and no prior evidence of similar actions, _is wrong to do."_

            "When you enter that room to determine your verdict, I'd like you to ask yourself one question.  How comfortable would you be if someone made a judgement on you based on your one most hateful statement?"

_Outside the Courtroom- 1538_

            "Congratulations, Major, I think you've won your first JAG case." Mac stated proudly.

            "Let's not get ahead of ourselves.  The prosecutor made a very compelling final argument.  It might not be as cut and dry as you expect, ma'am." Harrington warned.

            "Regardless, you did as well in that case as anyone could hope." Harm commended, "If your case doesn't win it, I don't think anything could."

            "Thank you, Commander."

            Singer then weighed in with her opinion.  "You definitely rattled the prosecutor with the witnesses you called.  He really didn't have much to cross-examine.  You played your strategy perfectly."

            "That's means a lot, especially considering the source, Lieutenant." Harrington replied with another one of his multitude of smiles.

            "Just one thing, Major." Admiral Chegwidden said, "The next time you want to use me as a witness… inform me beforehand."

            "Yes, sir." Harrington said, "It was just that I saw you in the spectator section, and the idea popped in my head."  Then, his smile broadened, "Besides, you had me so busy after 'dropping me into the mix right away' that I wouldn't have had time."

            Unable to help himself, the Admiral chuckled softly.  "I promise you that before you leave here or I retire, I will wipe that obnoxious grin off your face for good."

            Singer laughed, and interceded, "I wouldn't count on it, sir.  He's been grinning like that for years, and nothing short of heavy surgery is going to change that."

            Harrington was about to reply, when he got notice from the bailiff that the jury had reached a verdict.  The officers filtered back into the courtroom and took their respective places.

            "Has the jury reached a verdict?" The judge asked.

            "We have, your honor."

            "What say you?"

            The chief juror looked at the sheet in her hand, "In the case of the United States Air Force vs. Corporal Todd Hunter, on the charge of racial discrimination deserving dishonorable discharge, we find the defendant…"

**End Episode 2**

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Be the Jury!  Review with your verdict!  I'll let the voting go for about a week, or until I get a sufficient number of reviews, whichever comes first.


	3. Improving Team Chemistry

Author's Note: Just in case anyone is getting worried that Major Harrington is nothing more than some male Mary Sue, I implore you to just be patient.  Let me assure you, this guy has got some major issues that will be made clear in later chapters.

Second Author's Note: Thank you to the reviewer who commented on Chegwidden's chummy nature towards Harrington.  I was getting to that, as you will see… but thanks for keeping me honest!

Third Author's Note (last one this chapter, PROMISE!): I know I said I'd wait about a week for this next segment, but as this story slips farther down the list, the less likely reviews are going to come… what is it about my writing that seems to scare away reviews?  Oh well…

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**Episode 3:**

Improving Team Chemistry U.S. District Court, Norfolk, VA- 1440, August 27             "We find the defendant… not guilty." The jury chair stated. 

            Harrington pumped his fist once, and shook hands with his client as his JAG co-workers made their way down to the courtroom floor.  "Congratulations, Major." Mac said knowingly, "I had a feeling you iced it."

            "The first win is often the most satisfying, Major." Harm added, "Savor this one, you probably won't get this sort of feeling again for a while."

            "Thank you, sir… ma'am."

            "Well done, Harrington." Singer added, "I think you showed a few people that you've got the goods."

            Mac then declared, "This calls for a celebration!  Have you ever heard of Beltway Burgers, Major?"

            Harm rolled his eyes as Harrington replied, "No… can't say I have."

            "Well then, now is as good of a reason to discover the best hamburgers in the state!" Mac declared with a gleam in her eyes, causing Harrington to wonder if this celebration was for his benefit… or for hers…

            Before Harrington could ask Singer, she seemed to read his mind, stating, "Unfortunately, I have some paperwork for cases of my own to finish, so I won't be joining you.  I will see you tomorrow morning."

            "Oh… well, how about we get together tomorrow evening then?" Harrington asked.  He didn't want to seem like he was abandoning his friend.

            "That sounds good, Major.  I'll see you then."

            As Singer turned to leave, Admiral Chegwidden spoke up, "Before you go out for a night on the town, Major, can I speak to you in private?"

            "Certainly, sir."

            As the pair moved into the now vacant Jury Room, Harm cringed.  Mac noticed her oft-partner's reaction, and said with an innocent smile, "Something wrong, Commander?"

            "Oh… just that I get a feeling I know what Steve's about to receive…"

Jury Room- 1445 

            "What is it you needed to speak to me about, sir?" Harrington asked.

            "I just wanted to say that you remind me a lot of Commander Rabb when he started working under me, Major." The Admiral began, his back facing Harrington.

            Harrington smiled and replied, "I'll take that as a compliment, sir."

            Suddenly, Chegwidden whirled around, stopping 6 inches from Harrington's face, a furious expression pasted onto his features.  "Oh, is that so?" The Admiral began with a hiss, "Well, you _shouldn't, Major Harrington.  Rabb was cocky, and didn't feel he had to play by the rules.  I came a fingernail's breadth away from canning his six __several times.  You're fortunate that I know you a little bit, and that I've grown a little more understanding over the years.  __However… if you keep pulling stunts like you did today, I will __personally lick the stamps that mail you back to Seattle.  Do I make myself __clear?"_

            Harrington was stunned so rigid at the Admiral's outburst that a slight breeze might have knocked him over.  In a panic, he quickly squeaked, "Perfectly, sir."  

            Chegwidden drew back, and straightened his uniform.  "Good.  Now that the reprimand is out of the way, I want to talk to you about Lt. Singer."

            Still a bit rattled by the sudden changes in his commanding officer's mood, Harrington could only manage after several deep breaths, "What about her, sir?"

            "Colonel MacKenzie commented that you managed to make our Lieutenant friend act 'like a normal lawyer' in your settlement negotiations."

            "Oh, that was just a little friendly advice sir… I didn't do much more than that."

            Chegwidden waved off Harrington's modest assessment.  "Regardless, because of that, I think it would be best if you worked with Lt. Singer on a frequent basis.  Would that be a problem for you?"

            "Not at all." Harrington answered.

            "Good, because it wouldn't have mattered." Chegwidden retorted.  "Now, I suggest you don't keep Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb waiting.  Despite my little tirade… you did a good job."

            "Thank you, sir." Harrington finished with a salute.

            "Dismissed, Major."

            Harrington strode back into the courtroom, where his co-workers waited, Harm with a knowing smile stretching from ear to ear.  "The Admiral read you the riot act, Major?"

            "He definitely locked onto my six, Commander, and gave me some less-than-friendly fire I won't forget too quickly."

            Through Harm's deep laugh, Mac led the way to their vehicles and the quickest way to her favorite lunch stop…

_Gainsborough Court, Fairfax, VA- 1833, August 28_

            Lt. Singer marveled at the array of dishes that Harrington had set out on the round mahogany dining table.  "For appetizers, we have Fettuccine Alfredo with chicken and broccoli florets, as well as a red wine Caesar's Salad." Harrington began, motioning with his arms like a fancy waiter.  "For the main course, we have Chicken Parmesan in a tomato sauce, and for desert, chocolate Tira Misu with hot fudge topping.  To drink, I have a promising white Chardonnay that was begging for me to buy it." 

            "I get the feeling that you are going to spoil me for normal food by the end of the year." Singer commented ruefully.  Nonetheless, she took a small serving of each dish, and began to eat.  "Wow… you've actually gotten better." She said in amazement after swallowing a bite of the Chicken Parmesan.

            "Hey!" Harrington retorted, "I was good to begin with."

            Singer quickly corrected herself.  "I know.  You've actually gotten better."

            "Oh… well, thank you then." Harrington replied wryly, unconvinced.

            At that moment, Singer decided to address the large number of unopened moving boxes that lined the wall of Harrington's living room.  "Question… just when do you plan to move everything in?"

            Steve regarded the boxes wistfully, and replied.  "Hopefully never.  The minute I do, I'll no longer have any excuse to delay Lt. Sims's housewarming party."

            Singer smiled at the idea, and said, "That woman can be a handful at times."

            Harrington smirked, and replied, "Funny, I've heard the same thing said about you."

            "Oh, be quiet." Singer shot back playfully.

            The next several minutes were spent eating in silence, until Singer put her right hand under her chin in thought.  After swallowing, she commented, "You know, I get this feeling that the Admiral is going to have a big case for us tomorrow."

            "Really?  You think so?"

            "Yes.  Call it woman's intuition." Singer looked at Harrington appraisingly, and continued, "We're likely going to be paired together on it."

            "_Assuming that there is a big case coming in tomorrow, you'd probably be right." Harrington agreed, taking another bite afterwards._

            Singer's eyes narrowed, and she accused, "You sound a little _too certain of that, Steve…"_

            Harrington waited for his throat to clear, and he admitted, "Admiral Chegwidden discussed that issue privately with me yesterday.  He explained to me that he was likely going to team us together quite frequently.  The implied meaning was rather clear."

            "Because I get along with you." Singer finished with a disgusted sigh.  "Does that bother you?"

            "No, not really.  I mean, eventually I'd like to work with the other officers, but I certainly have no complaints working with you."

            Singer smiled in relief.  "Thank you."

            "Hey, what are friends for, right?"

            "I mean… I just can't connect with any of my co-workers.  At times, it seems like they just don't take their duties seriously enough at times.  I've been bred to go after my goals through any means necessary.  And you've seen how unprofessional they can be…"

            Harrington nodded, "Yeah, that I have, but I don't doubt for one minute that they're all business come crunch time.  Besides, most of them have been working together for a long time, and probably are more familiar with each other than their own families.  Such close bonds are bound to lead to more amiable discourse than what would be considered normal."

            Harrington then pointed at Singer with his fork, and continued, "You, on the other hand, haven't been around nearly as long.  It's understandable that there's going to be some growing pains."

            "You seemed to fit right in quickly and easily enough." Singer reminded him.

            "Well... that's just the way I am.  They didn't call me 'The Chameleon' back at Dartmouth for nothing."

            Singer released a silent chuckle at the memory.  Harrington back at the university had possessed this uncanny ability to blend into any crowd, and just generally be able to be friends with anyone, including a career driven, goal-motivated young woman whose only desire was getting to the top as fast as she could…

            "You still in there?" Harrington asked with his typical smile that never seemed to go away.

            "Yeah, I'm here.  Just got caught travelling down memory lane." She answered with a soft exhale of breath, taking a few moments to take some of the Tira Misu into her mouth, savoring the almost sinful dessert.  "Can I ask you a personal question?"

            Harrington pursed his lips, and answered, "Shoot."

            "Don't tempt me." Singer smirked then grew serious again.   "I never got to asking you this when we attended classes together.  Just why did you decide that you were going to become my friend, especially when I had initially made it clear that I didn't want friends?"

            Harrington took a deep breath, and answered, "Because I saw a young lady with incredible potential in which the skies were the limit.  Yet she didn't realize the most important thing in life she was missing… other people.  I remember what it was like being lonely, and I guess I felt it to be my mission to solve that problem in other people."

            Singer was silent, not sure how to reply to that.  Fortunately, an awkward silence was averted by a knock at Harrington's door.

            "Be right back." He said, moving to the entryway.  Out of curiosity, Singer followed a distance behind.  Thus, she saw Harrington's visitors quite clearly.  They were none other than Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb.

            "Hello, Steve." Harm said, "Just thought we'd stop by since we were in the area and see what the new guy was up to."

            "Actually… Harm, Mac, you've caught me at a bad time." Harrington replied sheepishly.  "Lt. Singer and I were having dinner…"

            "Actually, Steve, it is getting late, and I should probably head back home now." Singer replied from behind him, slinging her light jacket over her shoulders, and grabbing her purse.

            "Nonsense, Loren.  You don't have to go." Harrington answered soothingly.

            "Steve, I've compromised enough of your time already.  You should take some time for others too." Singer replied harshly, pushing her way past her co-workers, striding quickly down the hall to the elevators.

            "Loren…" Harrington called out, then turned to his two visitors.  "Can you wait inside for a minute?  I'll be right back."  With that, he took off at a jog after Lt. Singer.

            He caught up to her before she reached the elevator.  "Loren, what are you doing?" He asked, somewhat disapprovingly.

            "I've told you already.  It's getting late.  I should go." She pressed the call button for the elevator, and looked up at the floor display.

            Harrington smirked knowingly, and said, "You shouldn't run away from them."

            She whirled around to face him, and stated blandly, "I'm _not running away from __anyone.  Just because I must work with them for a minimum of 8 hours a day, does not mean I must be inclined to associate with them for the other 16."_

            Her features eventually softened, "I appreciate what you're trying to do.  But just let me deal with my personal life my way, okay?  Now you need to get to your other guests."

            "Are you sure about this?" Harrington asked her.

            "Yes, I'm sure." Singer answered just as the doors opened.  Once she stepped inside, she waved farewell, and said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."  The doors closed, and with a deep exhale, Harrington slowly returned to his apartment.

            He returned to find Colonel MacKenzie making herself quite at home, using his fork to take small bites out of the pan of Chicken Parmesan.  Harrington frowned slightly, and said, "Go ahead… dig in…"

            "I'm sorry." Mac said after swallowing.  "I couldn't help myself." As her fork hand hovered over the dish she asked, "Where did you get this from?  It's very good."

            "Go ahead, Mac." Harrington finally relented, his grin returning.  "There are plates in the cabinet just to the right of the dishwasher.  Eating utensils are in the drawer just underneath it."

            Grinning almost from ear to ear, Mac took a plate and another fork, using the serving spoon to take a large portion out of the pan.  Harrington asked as she was about to dig in, "Would you like some Chardonnay, madam?"

            Mac stopped, her fork hanging between the plate and her mouth, and Harm's expression turned serious.  "Did… I just say something wrong?" Harrington asked nervously.

            Mac licked her upper lip before replying softly, "I… don't drink, Steve."

            Harrington caught the hint from Mac's expression.  "Oh… right.  I wasn't thinking." He took the wine bottle, and placed it in the refrigerator, coming back out with a 2-quart plastic pitcher.  "How about some fresh squeezed lemonade?  Well… fresh squeezed this morning anyway…"

            Mac nodded appreciatively, "That sounds much better."

Harrington turned to Harm, and said, "Would you like some food as well, Harm?" Suddenly, he slapped himself on the forehead, and added, "Right… you're a vegetarian.  Well, never fear, I'll see what I can find."

            "I couldn't impose…" Harm began, but was interrupted.

            "No you don't." Harrington chided.  "My place, my rules.  You sit down, and I'll get you something.  In the meantime, you can try the salad if you want, the chicken slices are really more of a garnish that can be easily worked around."

            Harrington went through his cupboards, and eventually asked, "How do you feel about Spinach Lasagna?"

            Harm blinked, and replied, "Sure… if you have some."

            "Cheese or no cheese?"

            "Cheese is fine, but if that's all you have…"

            "With cheese it is then.  Fortunately I prepared some lasagna noodles yesterday, so it shouldn't take any more than 30 to 40 minutes.  Would that be all right?"

            "Sure…" Harm answered uncertainly.

            As Harrington laid out the base for the lasagna in a baking tin, and set out five tomatoes, an onion, three different types of pepper, mushrooms, a couple cloves of garlic, and a small pile of spinach leaves on the counter next to him, Mac finally made the connection.

            "You're going to make Spinach Lasagna from scratch?" She asked in disbelief, mouth half full of the Alfredo she had decided to sample.

            Harrington blinked twice, and dropped a large block of what appeared to be Parmesan cheese on the counter, "Of course."

            "Are you sure about that?"

            At that moment, Harrington smirked, and motioned to the table.  "You don't seem to have any problems with the Chicken Parmesan I made, Mac."

            Her eyes widened, and a small piece of fettuccini dropped out of her mouth.  "You _made all this __yourself?" Motioning to the dishes on the table._

            Harrington was in the process of pureeing the items for the sauce, and replied, "Indeed I did."

            Mac dove into the items with increased appreciation.  "Where did you learn how to do this?  This is unreal."  She said between mouthfuls.

            Harrington flushed, and answered, "Most of my electives during my education were in Culinary Arts.  Cooking is a bit of a hobby of mine, I suppose.  Granted, I don't get much time to practice on a lawyer's schedule, so I'm not really at top form."

            "Top enough form for 90% of the population, Steve.  This really is excellent."

            "I can tell you appreciate it.  That's your… fourth… serving…" He was obviously amazed by how much she had eaten.

            "Mac has a big stomach.  It's a mystery of nature." Harm explained.  Mac would have responded to that, but her mouth was full, so she settled for an indignant grunt.

            "I see." The young man replied, before turning his attention back to the task at hand.

            Mac reached in for a fifth serving of Chicken Parmesan, and well as another serving of Alfredo and salad.  "Umm… if I paid you 50 bucks, would you come and cook for me every night?" she asked.

            Harrington's reply from the kitchen was almost immediate.  "Umm… how about no?" He added a short laugh on the end to lighten the mood of the statement.

            "Never hurts to ask." Mac shot back defensively.

            Harm shook his head at Mac's assault on the dinner table and finally commented "Now I understand why you looked at Harriet oddly when she suggested several catering companies for your housewarming party."

            "Actually, the odd look was about the party in general." Harrington amended as he set down the second layer of noodles and sauce and vegetables.  Laying down one more layer of noodles, he topped with a little bit more sauce, as well as some sliced tomatoes, mushrooms, peppers, and crushed garlic.  Making sure the oven was preheated properly Harrington stuck the culinary work into the over, and set the timer.

            "Now… it's normally a no-no to use the timer.  A true gourmet artist maintains close vigil, and uses his senses to determine if something is done.  However, that generally makes the chef very poor company." Harrington explained as he sat down.

            Before the Air Force officer could continue, Mac had one more important question.

            "Can I take the rest of this home with me?"

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0901, August 29 

            "I got a nice stack of new cases delivered to me this morning, so I hope all of you are well rested." Chegwidden said in challenge to his officers.  "Major Harrington, Lt. Singer, this one is for you."

            Singer took the folder, and was about to open it when the Admiral stated, "I want Major Harrington to take the lead in this one, Lieutenant."

            "Sir, I have the higher seniority." Lt. Singer reminded.  Colonel MacKenzie rolled her eyes, knowing where this one was going. 

            "Let me assure you that I know that." Chegwidden replied in his chiding voice that almost sounded like a throaty hiss.  "But I want Major Harrington taking the lead in this case, understand?"

            "Yes, sir." Lt. Singer gritted out, snapping out her left hand with the folder towards Harrington.  

He slowly and gently took the folder, and said with as disarming of a smile as he possessed, "Thank you, Lieutenant."

            "This case will require you to travel to San Diego, California, so I won't give you anything else today.  Your flight leaves at 1300 hours from Dulles International."

            "Understood, sir." Harrington answered, his eyes lifting from the first page of the case file.

            "Dismissed." The admiral concluded.  Singer and Harrington saluted; then Harrington held the door for Singer to exit before he left the Admiral's office himself.

            Lt. Singer didn't look back once from the trip between the Admiral's office, and her own, obviously unhappy with her assignment.  

Lt. Sims seemed to key in on this, asking in way too sweet of a tone, "How did the meeting go, Lieutenant?"

She noticed Harrington enter her line of vision, as well as his disappointed shake of his head, indicating that she wasn't to continue.  Fortunately for both of them, Harriet took the hint, and didn't press any further.

            Once Singer reached her office, however, it was _on.  Waiting for Harrington to close the door, she whirled around, dropping the thin masks holding back her anger.  "What is the meaning of this?"  She hissed, "The protocols clearly state that the officer with more seniority, regardless of rank, should take the lead in a case."_

            "Perhaps, but that's more a custom rather than a rule." Harrington replied, his hands motioning for Singer to calm down.

            "Can't you see it, Steve?  The Admiral is just like the rest of them… he's trying to keep me back by any means possible!"

            "Actually, I think he's trying to see how well I do as the lead in a partnered case.  I didn't get many opportunities to do that in Seattle.  He's probably just scouting me."

            "Maybe so… but I doubt you'd think the same way if you were the one who got snubbed for the new guy."

            Harrington shook his head in disbelief.  "Come on, Loren, what does being lead really mean?  Oh, yippie, my name appears first on the trial transcript.  A good team works so smoothly that the lead is more a symbolic term than anything else."

            "Yeah… but…"

            Harrington's eyes narrowed in challenge, and he flashed a playful smirk, "Are you saying you can't handle the support position?  How are you going to prove yourself if you can't do what your ordered to do?"

            "Oh… you…" Singer hissed, "You just had to play to my competitive nature, didn't you?"

            "I know you, Lt. Singer, and I know exactly what it takes to get you to see reason."

            "Very well, Major Harrington.  We'll play your game… _this time." Lauren accepted._

            Harrington's face grew apologetic, "Next time we work together, I'll try and make sure you get the lead, okay?"

            "Sounds fair." She concluded, somewhat satisfied.

            Harrington sighed in relief inaudibly.  Another potential crisis averted.  Somehow, he had to get Loren to see that not everybody in the office, especially Admiral Chegwidden, was out to ruin her or hold her back.  As a matter of fact, he was slowly getting the impression that the Admiral was doing exactly the opposite.  In Lt. Singer's defense, however, she had been raised to generally distrust people and their motives.  It had been hard for Loren to accept himself at first; much less a group of people that he was certain intimidated her on some subliminal level.

            He had been so engrossed in his own thoughts, that he never said the pen flying through the air before it struck him on the side of the head.  Turning to the culprit, he asked hurtfully, "What was that for?"

            "I had asked you what the case we got was about, but you seemed to be in your own little world." Singer stated wryly.

            "Oh!" Harrington answered; putting on his reading glasses as he flipped open the folder.  "Looks like we are to defend Marine Sergeant Andrew Clive, who was arrested outside a nightclub in San Diego after he allegedly shot and killed a civilian in an alley."

            "Sounds like fun…" Singer answered skeptically.

            "Oh indeed." Harrington agreed before slight movement outside the office window drew his attention.  His eyes narrowed, and he said offhandedly to Singer, "Just one moment…"

            Harrington quickly pulled open the door, and several Petty Officers fell forward into the office, led by Tiner.  Singer was about ready to set the office ablaze with her glare alone, and Tiner sheepishly explained, "We just wanted to see if you were all right, sir… Lieutenant Singer seemed mad…"

            Harrington smiled evilly, and replied, "Well, as you can see, Tiner, I'm just fine." Then his tone became serious, and he added, "I suggest you and your cohorts return to your posts before I decide to report this to the Admiral… or maybe I'll just throw you to Lt. Singer's mercies…"

            That cleared the mass of humanity in seconds.  Singer glowered, and replied, "I'm going to report them to the Admiral anyway.  I wish you wouldn't have said what you did, because now I'm going to look like even more of a bitch."

            Harrington closed the office door again, and said reassuringly, "I don't think you need to report this.  I think they learned their lesson."

            "It's the principle of the thing!  They had no right trying to eavesdrop…"

            Harrington interrupted.  "It was minor, and I doubt they got much of anything worthwhile.  Besides, it's obvious that they are so scared of you that my warning along with that glare of yours will probably be more effective than any restraining order."

            "But…" Singer was starting to realize she wasn't going to win this argument… Harrington wasn't going to let her.

            "Didn't anyone ever tell you 'don't sweat the small stuff'?  If this happens again, I'll be the first one to report it.  Anyway, we have a trip to prepare for.  How about I meet you at your place at 1130?"

            "Why?" Singer asked.

            Harrington bit his lower lip, and replied, "Because… I have no idea where Dulles International is…"

            Singer wasn't sure if Harrington was serious, or he was just trying to get her to laugh and forget about Tiner and his cronies.  If it was the latter, then it worked.  "Okay, meet me at 1130, Major.  I'll show you the way."

End Episode 3 


	4. West Coast Tilt

Author's Note: I apologize if this plot-line is going slower than Marlon Brando riding an arthritic tortoise on the planet Jupiter… but I'm trying to capture the spirit of the series here, which means that the various story arcs don't necessary develop very fast.

****

Episode 4:

West Coast Tilt

__

Calipatria State Prison- Outside San Diego, CA- 1019 PST, August 30

"Sergeant Clive, I am Major Steve Harrington, and this is Lt. Loren Singer. We've been assigned to defend your case." Harrington stated with his trademark smile as he shook their client's hand. Lt. Singer did the same, and with that, the three got down to business.

"That's great… cool, even. I've been framed, you see." Clive stated proudly.

"Okay, perhaps you can tell us just what happened."

"Well, it started in the nightclub, the Fading Dreams." Clive began, "I started jawing with a loudmouth punk who had decided he owned the best seats. I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about, sir… you know, the one's just in front of the pole so that you can get the best view?"

"No, can't say I do." Harrington replied flatly.

Singer grunted in disgust, "So it was one of _those_ nightclubs… figures."

"Well anyway, they ask me if I want to take it outside." Clive continued, "So I say, sure. We get outside, and get into an alley across the club, and I realize this punk had brought four of his buddies. Anyway, I get in a scrap with the punk in question, and I get him pretty good."

Clive leaned in, and said, "Then, I see that one of this punk's buddies has a gun! The fucker was gonna _shoot_ me!"

"I'm tempted to do the same…" Singer muttered under her breath. It didn't appear that their client heard the comment, but Harrington frowned at her before asking Clive to continue.

"Well, anyway, I jump out of the way behind some trash cans just before he fires, then I hear a whole bunch of cursing, and once I jump back to my feet, the punks are running full speed down the alley away from the club."

Harrington looked down at his case file, and replied, "Well, eye witnesses report seeing one person fleeing from the scene, not five."

"Maybe they were fucking ghosts, alright? All I know is what I saw."

"Next question." Singer interrogated, "How did your fingerprints show up on the murder weapon?"

"I picked up the gun after the punk dropped it, and went after them. I didn't even know they capped somebody across the alley until after the cops booked me."

"Right…" Singer answered skeptically.

Harrington stood, and said, "All right, I think we have all we need." He waited for Singer to join him before concluding, "We'll check up on what you told us, and we'll get ready for the arraignment."

Once the pair had left the interview room Singer commented, "He obviously didn't get promoted to Sergeant because of his intelligence. Even if someone else killed that civilian, he was found with the murder weapon on his possession, frothing like a madman about killing those bastards. It would take a miracle of God to find him not guilty."

"Not unless we can find those four mysterious 'ghosts'." Harrington replied.

"You aren't serious…" Singer said warily.

He shrugged. "Hey, we have two days before the arraignment, then however long before the trial. It can't hurt to try and have a look see."

"You aren't serious…" Singer reiterated.

"Did you have some other plans, Lieutenant?"

"No…"

"Then why not? At the worst, we wind up with a San Diego tour. At the best… we make a miracle happen." He flashed her another one of his grins.

Singer exhaled, caving in. "All right… we can do some investigation. It'll kill some time."

__

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1112 EST

"Colonel… this could get us in some serious trouble." Bud warned as he nonetheless typed in commands from his office computer.

"We're just going to sneak a peak at Lt. Singer's personnel file, that's all." Mac rationalized. "It's not like we're going to change anything. Besides, it's not like we're hacking into the CIA."

"True… but without any due reason to call up her file… this could result in pretty strict ramifications." Bud paused before adding, "Just why do you want to see Lt. Singer's file anyway? I thought you hated her."

"It was something Major Harrington said that got me to thinking." She explained. "I'm just curious about Singer now."

Bud sighed in resignation. "All right… well, here it is…"

Mac leaned closer to Bud's computer, and read off the screen. "Loren Singer… born in Greenwich, Connecticut… daughter to Francis and Marcia Singer… Marcia is a neurological doctor, Francis is a stockbroker… attended Dartmouth University with a full grant… she's basically grown up with a silver spoon in her hand."

"Meaning?" Bud asked.

"It would explain her attitude… but Harrington seemed awfully certain she had a 'troubled past'. I _wish_ I had her troubles." Mac scoffed.

"Well, ma'am… if I may say so… just because you've got money, doesn't always mean things are all sunshine and happy."

"What is going on here?" Harm cut in, causing Mac and Bud to nearly jump out of their skins. "Why are you looking at Lt. Singer's personnel file?"

"Something Major Harrington said to me, it got me to thinking." Mac explained.

"That's got to be a first." Harm said with a teasing grin.

Mac's playful glare prompted Harm to take a step back in mock fear. "Anyway, I probably should warn you that the Admiral is just finishing his meeting with the SecNavy, and probably wouldn't like to see what you're doing."

Bud yelped, and quickly deleted all records and history pertaining to the file from his computer. Meanwhile, Harm advised, "Besides, we still have a nice case load to finish, Mac. Might as well do it now, and actually be busy when he comes in."

__

Fading Dreams- San Diego, CA- 1522 PST

"I cannot believe you actually talked me into coming in here." Singer grumped as they entered the club. At the moment, it was empty save the dancing girls who were practicing their routines for the following night.

"It's all in the name of investigation." Harrington answered with a sly grin.

"Uh huh, sure…"

"Hey, you can wait outside by the car." Harrington reminded, "Maybe those construction workers on the other side of the road would be willing to keep you company."

Singer cringed at the reminder. "Let's just get done here, okay?"

It didn't take them long to find the person in charge of the club, after all, he was the only other male in the establishment besides Harrington.

"Yeah, I remember that Marine, Andrew Clive, right?" The proprietor of the club, a portly, balding man with a cigar trapped between his teeth, answered. "Yeah, he's stationed around here… one of my most frequent customers."

"Do you remember him arguing with someone on the night of the 22nd?" Harrington asked.

"Nope, I wasn't here, left the club in charge of my brother that night. I was… out of town… on business, you see." He replied, offering a cigar to Harrington.

Harrington declined, and continued, "Do you know where we can contact your brother?"

"Yeah, I got his number right here." The proprietor answered, pulling out his business card. "His phone number is on the bottom. If anything went down that night, he'd know the answer."

"One more question, did the police already question anyone here?" Singer asked.

"Not really… the police generally go out of their way to leave me be. Then again, those are the perks when you give 'off-duty discount days'." His eyebrows lifted lecherously.

"Thank you, sir. We appreciate your cooperation." Harrington replied as he turned to leave.

"Hey… you know, sweet cheeks… If the Navy ever gives you a bum deal, the guys around here pay big money for a lady in uniform."

Singer cringed at the thought, and replied with every ounce of venom she could muster. "I would rather spend a year in an Iraqi detention center than one night here." She would have said more hadn't Harrington "escorted" her out the door.

As they got into the rental car, Singer fumed. Meanwhile, the catcalls from the construction workers across the street pervaded through the doors. "Men are pigs."

"Hey now…" Harrington began.

"You're not a man." Singer replied in apology.

Harrington's eyes narrowed as he began to accelerate. "Thanks… I think…"

__

San Diego Radisson- 1545 PST

"Yes, I am just looking for a Dougie Bell… the number on his buisness card says that this is the number." Harrington said with a sigh. Somehow he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"Figures… the guy's probably in Mexico getting arrested." Singer said. "I knew this was going to be a waste of time."

"Maybe not." Harrington replied thoughtfully before picking up the phone.

"Who are you calling now?"

Harrington held up his index finger, asking her to be quiet for a minute. "Hey, Ronnie, how ya' doin, girl? Yeah, this is Steve. Listen, I know I'm not your boss anymore, but I could _really_ use a favor."

Harrington waited for a moment, before he continued, "Yeah… I'm in San Diego, and I need to find someone named Dougie Bell. He's probably hiding out somewhere, and so I need any information you can find about his family, friends, or potential hideouts."

There was more silence, "Yeah, I know that you don't have any jurisdiction to do that… but I could really use some help here. Think of all the times I covered for you when you needed it."

After one last pause, Harrington smiled, and replied, "Thank you, Ronnie. You are a lifesaver. I'm sure you already tagged the number I'm calling from, so just call me back when you have the info."

Harrington placed the phone back on its rest, and Singer glared accusingly, "And who was _that_?"

Harrington took a deep breath, "That was Ronnie Chapel, she works for Interpol in Seattle. She was often my source of information when I worked as military advocate for the Seattle District Court."

"So, what's next, then?"

"Well… we wait until Ronnie gets a hold of me again. Could be a couple minutes, could be a couple hours. You never know with Interpol."

__

Virginia, 2021 EST

Mac heard the knock on her door, and knew instantly just who it was. First, an image of her visitor's face flashed before her mind, and second, she only had one person who came around at this time of the evening.

"Hello, Harm." Mac said with a knowing smile.

The Commander flipped a case file up in front of her face. "There are 15 more just like this one in my briefcase. We probably should get to them."

"Oh, so this visit is business?" Mac replied.

"Why, were you expecting pleasure?"

"Of course."

"Well then, we still can arrange some pleasure for the evening."

"Yes, we could. But it would have to be a pizza place that delivers. We won't have time to go and get it ourselves."

Harm laughed, "No wonder you get these visions of yours, Mac. Your brain has nothing else to do while you're thinking with your stomach."

Mac just stuck out her tongue as she waited for the pizzeria to answer. Once she had placed her order, she sat down at her kitchen table, Harm on the other side, too close for her professional comfort, but too far away for her personal tastes. There were moments where her life could be absolute hell…

"It's not fair, you know." Mac complained, trying to get her mind off… other things. "We're the ones with seniority, and yet we're the ones sitting at a kitchen table doing all the work for the two new kids while they jet off to San Diego on the glory case."

Harm shook his head in disbelief, "I thought you _liked_ having Singer out of town."

"I do… but not when I get stuck with her workload." Mac replied indignantly.

"I got an e-mail from Steve before I left my place. He seems to think that they've got a real mess brewing in California. It might not be much preferable to this when all is said and done."

__

San Diego Radisson- 1900 PST 

"Well, Ronnie called me back. Looks like we have five places that she could confirm our friend Dougie might be at." Harrington told his partner as he sat down next to her in front of the hotel bar.

"About time… I was actually starting to consider some of the vintages they have here."

"Something wrong with them?"

"You know better than anyone that I have very refined tastes." Singer replied.

"But of course." He answered, offering his arm, "Well, your highness, shall we proceed with our tour of the city?"

Singer slapped it away, and with a wry smile, said, "Oh, knock it off, and let's get this over with."

The first three places turned up nothing. They had not expected Dougie to be at his home address or his summer cottage on the beach, but they were quite surprised when his mother seemed not to have any idea as well.

"I think Bell's mother was misleading us." Singer said again.

"And I don't agree… she looked like she would be the _first_ one to strangle Dougie if she found him." Harrington disagreed, fighting to keep his attention on the road. That was the fourth time Singer had made her opinion clear as they wove through the streets of San Diego.

"So now where?" Singer asked more to herself, looking down the list of names that Harrington had received from his friend in Interpol. "Mara Sinclair… supposedly Mr. Bell's fiancé…"

Relaying the address to Harrington, he located it on their rental car's GPS. "All right, here we go. Fourth times a charm, right?"

"Right…"

Upon reaching the young woman's residence, a small row house on the outskirts of the city, Mara came out to meet them before they even had started to walk up the driveway.

"If you are looking for Dougie, he's not here." She said softly.

"How did you know we were looking for Mr. Bell?" Singer inquired.

"Well, when I saw the military uniforms, I assumed you were the… oops." She slapped her hand over her mouth, realizing she had said something she wasn't supposed to say.

"Stupid _bitch_!" A male shouted from inside the house, and burst out the front door at top speed, running to the back yard.

Harrington pulled his pistol out of his hip holster, and said, "Keep an eye on Miss Sinclair, Lieutenant." With that, he took off full speed after who couldn't have been anyone else than Dougie Bell.

"Men…" Mara snorted as Harrington disappeared around the corner of the house.

Singer nodded, "Tell me about it…"

Seconds later, the sound of a single gunshot rung out from the backyard, quickly jolting Singer with concern. Soon after, Dougie's voice yelled, "Jesus Christ! What is with you military people shooting everything that moves?"

Dougie emerged, hands above his head, followed by Harrington, pistol trained on the former. Harrington's face was not in its usual smile, and he reached a similar conclusion as Singer as they looked at each other. "I think we have to listen to what this guy has to say. Call the San Diego Police Department, Lieutenant, and have them pick our friend up."

__

SDPD Headquarters, San Diego, CA- 2047 PST

"You're the ones that brought him in…" The Detective said as he, Singer and Harrington, waited outside the interrogation room. "You guys want to have first crack at him?"

"Oh, could we?" Singer asked hopefully. She was _really_ looking forward to releasing some of her frustrations since coming to San Diego.

"Be my guest." the detective motioned with a wave of his arm towards the door.

Harrington looked down at Singer, and asked, "So, do you want to be the good cop, or the bad cop?"

Singer's look was all the answer Harrington needed. "Right… stupid question."

Inside the interrogation room, it took Singer all of three seconds to start tearing into Dougie like a rabid hyena. "So… do club manager's _normally_ sit in the front role just underneath the pole of their own clubs?"

"I wouldn't know." Dougie answered.

"Do they also normally get into fights with club patrons?"

"If you're talking about that Clive fellow, he didn't get mixed up with me."

"Then how did you get that black eye, Mr. Bell?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"I see… then why can I see a bruise in the shape of a marine class ring on your cheek?"

Dougie slaps his hand over the cheek Singer pointed at, "How can you tell it's a marine ring, lady?"

Singer smiled triumphantly, "I couldn't… but your reaction tells me everything I needed to know."

At this point, Harrington steps in, "So… you were involved in an incident with Sergeant Clive on the night of August 22?"

"All right, so I was. I was scouting out the mistakes the girls were making in their performances, and the best way to do that is to get the best seat, right?" Dougie answered reluctantly.

"Sure…" Singer replied, unconvinced.

Dougie glared at Lt. Singer, but didn't respond. "Anyway, this Sergeant comes up to me, and demands that he get that seat. We get to arguing, and eventually I decide to deal with him. I ask him to take it outside, and once we get there, we start fighting."

Then Dougie's face contorts in fear. "Then, I start to get some punches in on him, and then he pulls out a gun. He fires one shot at me, and before he can fire again, I'm booking it top speed."

Singer steps in, and replies, "Well, I don't believe you. If you come up against me at trial with that story, I'd pick it apart in a hurry. So you better come out with what really happened before I arrange for you to have a nice cell with Sergeant Clive at the State Pen."

Harrington gently pushed Singer back, and took control of the interrogation. "You see… Sergeant Clive doesn't look _anything_ like you do, Mr. Bell, so I get the feeling that you were doing more receiving than delivering. Secondly, if Clive had already fired one shot with an semi-automatic, like the one he had, it would not have taken him that long to fire a second, a shot that would have killed _you_. So that tells me he got the weapon from somewhere, or someone, else."

"Okay… so I had some friends with me." Dougie sighed. 

"Who?" Singer demanded. "Are they military?"

Dougie nods, "They are some buddies I have that had gotten transferred to the SEAL training program. We got together when I learned they were in the area."

"Who are they?"

"I… can't tell you that!" Dougie exclaims, suddenly in fear. "Do you know what they'd do to me if they found out I told you?"

Singer was about to explode, when Harrington intervened. "Lieutenant, we've done all we can. Let the detectives take it from here." With that, he followed Singer out of the interrogation room.

"What are you doing, Steve?" Singer hissed once they were in a more private area, a corner of the precinct rather devoid of activity. "Without any names, there isn't anything we can tag on anybody."

"Relax, I know a way that I can get the names of our potential suspects, and it won't require spitting venom or pulling teeth." Harrington assured her, approaching the main desk of the precinct. "Do you have a outgoing long-distance phone, ma'am?" He asked the officer at the counter.

Once supplied with the hardware, Harrington dialed in a number that he apparently knew from memory. "Hey, Ronnie, it's me again."

Singer's eyes narrowed as Harrington chatted amiably with his former co-worker from Interpol. The fact that he had memorized this woman's number displeased Singer, but she wasn't exactly sure _why_ it should upset her even in the slightest way.

"Anyway, on to business at hand, Ronnie…" Harrington suddenly said, drawing Singer's attention to his words. "I have another favor to ask you… but this one is a little bit tougher."

Harrington pursed his lips, and said, "I need a history of residence for Dougie Bell…" He bit his upper lip, as if he really didn't want to make this next request, "As well a similar history for everyone currently undergoing SEAL training in Coronado, California…"

Harrington drew back from the phone, and Singer could hear incoherent shouting from the receiver. "Listen… I know it's a tough job… but I _really_ need your help here, Ronnie. Listen… Ronnie… come on… for _me_?" His final request came with a pleading tone that Singer somehow knew the woman on the other end would not be able to resist.

Sure enough, Harrington's gleeful smile, returned, and he almost chirped "Oh, thank you, Ronnie. I _knew_ I could count on you. You are awesome; you know that? Anyway, gotta go… just transfer all the files in question to my e-mail. Thank you."

"The way you abuse that woman is almost disturbing." Singer chastised.

"You don't even _know_ half of the stuff I did for her." Harrington replied defensively, "Some of the things I did for Ronnie makes my request sound like waiting in line at the DMV."

"What sort of things?" Singer accused ruefully.

"Let's just say that Ronnie had a bit of a problem with medicinal weed in a state in which it wasn't exactly allowed for medicinal use, okay?" Harrington admitted. "I got her off with no charges, and it seemed like a good trade for future relations. I got information that would have been hard to get through normal channels, she got to live and work outside of steel bars."

"And here I was thinking you were this wonderful by-the-book lawyer." Singer said with a sarcastic frown. "My image of you has been tarnished forever."

"Hey, now, you know better than anyone that I have no problem playing whatever cards I need to win the hand, within reason of course… just like you. There's only one difference between us."

"Oh… and what's that?"

"I make friends while doing it." He finished with a smug grin.

"If you don't stop smiling like that, I swear I'll break your jaw."

Harrington reduced his smile… a little. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel. There's nothing more we can do here, anyway."

__

SEAL Training Grounds, Coronado, CA- 0810 PST, August 31

"Are you certain that we've got the names we're looking for?" Singer asked suspiciously.

"Sergeant Clive said there were four others in that alley other than Bell. Lo and behold, we discover four prospective SEALs that share a common link to him while they went to High School." Harrington reminded her. They had compared background histories of all 300 current prospects looking for matches until 2330 last night.

"Do you honestly think that they'll cooperate with us?"

"Probably not." Harrington replied, "But you're a Navy gal… they'll probably cut you some slack that they wouldn't for me."

Captain James Gerard, the officer in charge of the grounds did not appear terribly happy to see two JAG officers appear at his office door. But he eventually agreed that if Harrington and Singer thought that one of his men might have been involved in a homicide, then it was in everyone's best interest to find the truth of the matter.

"If one of my men is responsible, then he needs to be punished to the full extent of the law." The Captain said after being brought up to speed. "Who are the four you are suspecting?"

Singer handed him the list, and said, "The four we believe might have been involved are all here. We would like to start questioning them immediately."

Which brought the officers to the debriefing room inside the main complex. The first under the microscope was Petty Officer Greg Olson. He obviously did not feel particularly worried, and didn't determine the considerably shorter Navy woman in front of him to be much of a threat.

That was his first mistake.

"Were you at the Fading Dreams in San Diego on the night of August 22, Petty Officer?" Singer began.

"I was not given leave from the training facility, ma'am." The Petty Officer said with a great amount of cockiness.

"So you snuck out?"

"Did anyone see me sneak out, ma'am?"

Unfazed, and unimpressed, Singer asked, "Where were you the night of the 22nd?"

"I was in the barracks like a good SEAL, ma'am."

"I'll just bet you were." Singer growled.

"Can I continue with my training, ma'am? Or do you have any further questions?"

Lt. Singer began to huff, her face turning red in frustration. Harrington then stepped in to play his role. "Do you know someone named Dougie Bell?"

"Can't say I've heard the name, sir."

Harrington chortled once. "You know, that's funny, because he knows you. He made a statement with the San Diego Police Department placing you and three of your fellow SEAL trainees at the scene of a murder outside the Fading Dreams nightclub."

As the color drained from the Petty Officer's face, Harrington added, "We've been able to determine that either you or one of your fellow trainees was the one who shot this civilian. Now Lt. Singer here has no problems throwing all four of you into jail for this, but I feel that the only person that needs any punishment is the one who actually pulled the trigger. Now I understand that you SEALs have a code that you succeed or fail as one, but I see no need for all four of you to face life in prison."

"It wasn't a murder, sir… we didn't intend to shoot any civilian." Orson admitted.

"Now, we are getting somewhere. Just what was the intent?"

"It was meant for the Marine, sir. He and Dougie had started arguing inside the club, and then they decided to take it outside. Dougie was an old friend of mine, and I wanted to make sure he would be all right. We all liked Dougie, sir, and we all just wanted to make sure that he wasn't gonna get hurt."

"Why did you try to shoot the marine?"

"I didn't try to shoot him, sir." Orson corrected. "That was done by Ensign Hines. The fight started, and the Marine started winning. Then Dougie draws a knife. The Marine took it from Dougie, and went to stab him. That's when Ensign Hines drew his gun, and fired."

"Doesn't seem likely that a SEAL would miss from such short range, Petty Officer." Singer interceded.

With a flush, Orson added, "We were all a little drunk, ma'am."

Harrington rubbed his forehead, and turned to the Captain and Singer. "Captain, could you send in Ensign Hines? This whole story might have just gotten a lot more complicated…"

__

Calipatria State Prison- Outside San Diego, CA- 1015 PST

"Sergeant Clive, why didn't you tell us about the knife?" Harrington asked sternly.

"What knife?" Clive said innocently.

"The knife you were going to stab Mr. Bell with during your fight!" Singer amended with a shout.

"I don't know what you are talking about, ma'am." Clive stubbornly insisted.

"The knife that all five of your 'assailants' said you were preparing to stab Mr. Bell with before one of them, tried to shoot at you. The one that San Diego Police found on Mr. Bell, with your fingerprints on it." Harrington amended further.

Clive gulped nervously. "Oh, you mean… _that_… knife…"

Harrington threw his hands up in disgust, and motioned for Singer to step outside with him. Once they were outside the interview room, he shook his head, as if fatigued. "I knew it couldn't be simple."

"So, we have a Marine Sergeant who attempted to stab a civilian. In response, a Navy SEAL trainee pulled his gun, while intoxicated, and shot a civilian walking by on the other side of the street." Singer said, rubbing her temples, "And _we_ get to go to trial on this debacle…"

At this point, Harrington propped his chin on his right hand, and said thoughtfully, "Maybe not… this might be a case worth settling…"

__

California State District Court, San Diego, CA- 1016 PST, September 1

"Here is the latest deal that we have on the table." Harrington said, reading over his frequently amended and scribbled and scratched out script. "Sergeant Andrew Clive will plead guilty to the charge of Assault with a deadly weapon with intent to injure. Ensign Chris Hines will plead guilty to 2nd Degree Manslaughter. Petty Officers Greg Olson and Scott Black, and Lieutenant Lewis Hocking will be dishonorably discharged from the Navy for their roles in this event."

"And the rest of us will be spared trying to sort this out in court, and wasting the time of a jury." Singer sighed in relief.

The presiding judge of the mess rolled his eyes, and said, "If all the parties involved with this agree to the terms, I'll be willing to prepare sentences for it."

The state prosecutor looked in over his head. He had not anticipated having to deal with the inclusion of a member of a civilian company as well as the Navy SEALs. "That's fine with me."

Captain Gerard stood on behalf of the four SEALs. "Oh, my men agree to these terms, whether they like it or not."

Sergeant Clive sighed, and agreed as well. "Sure, whatever… as long as I'm not getting put away for murder."

"Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen." The judge nodded, standing to return to his chamber. "As I understand, you have been called back to your office in Washington, correct, Major Harrington?"

"Myself and Lt. Singer were informed by our commanding officer to return as soon as a settlement had been reached. Unless you need us present for sentencing."

"I do not foresee your presence being necessary, and you two have more than done your job, already. You are both dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Harrington and Singer echoed before retreating from the chamber.

As they left the courthouse, Harrington could help but observe his partner's mood. "Is something wrong, Loren?"

"It just seems like we took the easy way out settling this without going to trial." Singer admitted, "This entire mess just seemed to cheapen the purpose of the legal system."

Harrington nodded, "Indeed, but that's why settlements of this sort is allowed. You know how hard it was for us to put together the pieces of this whole mess in a way that did _some_ justice to everyone involved. Imagine the time a jury would have…"

"Okay, you made your point." Singer said, holding up her hand, "The idea of staying here for weeks on end does not appeal to me."

"Gee, Loren, I thought you loved it here." Harrington said with a wide grin.

"Oh yes, so much so I'm trying to decide if we can make the early flight out of San/International." She said, looking down at her watch.

Just then, a middle-aged man in a trench coat walked in front of them just before they reached the bottom of the courthouse steps. "Hey, baby… can I interest you in a watch?"

With that, he threw open his coat, and wiggled his hips twice before closing back up, and running away at full speed.

"Well… can't say much for his… selection…" Harrington muttered, mouth agape.

Singer clenched her eyes shut, her fists clenched so tight that her knuckles were turning white. "God… I hate men…"

****

End Episode 4


	5. Having an Off Day

Author's note:  Once again, this chapter contains segments which some may find offensive.  They do not reflect the author's opinions.

Second Author's note: On the first revision of this chapter, a reviewer made a comment that made a lot of sense about the ending… and thus, its been revised.  I think I found a much better way to progress with this storyline anyway…

****

**Episode 5:**

**Having an Off Day**

****

_JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0844, September 3_

Admiral Chegwidden looked down at the paperwork in front of him, the report that Harrington had turned into him the moment they had returned from California.  "It took a lot of savvy in investigating and working out a deal that saved every party involved from a messy trial.  You both did a very sound job, and I'll admit to say that I am impressed."

"Thank you, sir." Harrington answered, "It was definitely a team effort."

Chegwidden regarded that statement carefully.  "That's what I had heard." The Admiral had decided to do some follow-up in the case after receiving Harrington's report, and had discovered that the Major had not embellished the report at all.  He worked well with Lt. Singer, someone who, judging from her co-workers behind-the-scenes complaints, did not necessarily play nice with others.  "If you two keep working like this, I may not ever separate you."

            Then again, the Admiral was certain he was not the only one to have noticed a slightly different mood about Lt. Singer since Major Harrington had transferred.  It was as if the rough edge that made Singer almost impossible to deal with had been sanded away.  The Lieutenant was still a handful, make no mistake, but it seemed to be a somewhat manageable handful...

            Harrington had mentioned that he had known Lt. Singer at Dartmouth, but Chegwidden couldn't believe that they just shared classes.  There was a level of comfort between the two that went beyond classmates.  Just how far beyond was up for debate, something that the Admiral didn't feel was any of his business.  As long as Harrington managed to keep Singer at least marginally docile, they could almost be armed bank-robbers in their spare time for all he cared.

            "You two might as well stick around, it's almost 0900." Chegwidden noted, and minutes later, the rest of his merry band filtered into the office.  After the customary salutes, the group got down to business.

            "Commander Turner, Major Harrington, this one is for you." Handing over the case file to the two, the Admiral carefully gauged Lt. Singer's reaction, which didn't change... at the moment.  "I would have liked to see you prosecute this case, but the Chiefs of Staff selected his own prosecutor."

            Turner opened the file, and after looking over it, handed it to Harrington.  The Admiral was in the process of handing a case over to Commander Rabb, so he almost didn't see Harrington grimace like he had been punched in the gut.

            "Is something wrong, Major?"

            Harrington jerked like the Admiral had slapped him in the face.  "Oh, no, sir."

            Chegwidden wasn't sure he believed his new officer, but was too busy at the moment to give it much further thought.  "Very well, Major Harrington." The Admiral then returned to his task of handing out case files.

Bullpen- 0935 

"Well, we might as well get started." Sturgis commented as they strode through the bullpen.  "Good job on the Clive case, by the way.  I'll admit that I was concerned that it would be too much for you and Lt. Singer to handle."

            "It was a concern I shared for a moment myself." Harrington admitted.  "I just had this feeling right from the get-go that it wasn't going to be pretty."

            Sturgis couldn't help but notice that Harrington seemed distracted while answering the question.  "I'm just amazed that you were able to keep Lt. Singer on her leash through the debacle."

            Harrington did not take that comment very well.  "There was no leash needed, Commander.  We work smoothly together, sir."

            Sturgis raised his hand, taken aback by the veiled hostility in Harrington's tone. "Listen, I'm not trying to insult anybody here.  However, I'm not going to step around the issue like some others around here seem to want to." Sturgis continued in a voice that bordered on threatening, "My experience with Lt. Singer has been one of lies and mean-spirited behavior."

            "Permission to speak freely, Commander." Harrington sniped.

            "Granted."

            "I don't think I am the one you should be talking to about this.  This conversation borders on petty gossip.  Let me assure you that I am already familiar with the way Lt. Singer behaves.  I was on the receiving end of her venom for a good many years."  Then with a narrow glare, Harrington added, "I could say that my first few meetings with _you haven't given me a much better picture of you than the one you painted of Lt. Singer.  You seem cold, mean-spirited, and somewhat backstabbing considering the fact that you are calling her a liar and a bitch to __my face."_

            Then Harrington's expression turned melancholy, "However, from what others have told me, I know that you are anything but.  We all have different personality projections depending on the person we are interacting with, Commander, and to judge a person based on one aspect of that personality seems rather unfair.  I'll admit that Lt. Singer can be very difficult most of the time, but she does have her gentle side if you are patient enough to find it."

            As Harrington prepared to return to his office, Sturgis asked, "How long did it take you to find the softer side of the porcupine?"

            Expecting one of Harrington's smiles, Sturgis was somewhat surprised when the Major replied flatly, "About three years..."

            Sturgis smiled back, but couldn't help but think that something was bothering his current case partner.  "You know, if you would like to be partnered with Lt. Singer for the majority of cases from here on, you can just say so... I'm certain no one would complain."

            "What do you mean?"

            "I noticed that you seemed... a little disappointed when Admiral Chegwidden handed us this file." Sturgis concluded, "I figured that it had to do with the fact that you weren't working with the Lieutenant."

            Harrington waved off the suggestion.  "No, that's not it at all.  I... just have some other things on my mind, that's all."

            "What sort of things, Major?"

            "With all due respect, sir, they are of a personal nature."  Without giving Sturgis a chance to respond, Harrington disappeared into his office.

            Singer just about leaped on him as he went to take his seat.  "What was that about?" She asked, her voice carrying a hint of accusation.

            "Commander Turner wanted to set up times for us to meet and plan our strategy."

            "What did he say about me?"

            Harrington then whirled around to face her, growling, "I do _not have the patience to deal with your paranoia today, Lieutenant.  Everyone is __not always talking about how much of a bitch you are... although you might very well __deserve it!"_

            Had she gotten that tirade from anyone else, Singer probably would have boiled over in anger, and hellfire would have rained down upon her unsuspecting victim.  But as she watched Harrington just about fall into his chair, dropping his head into his hands dejectedly, the only emotion that flooded her was concern.  Steve did not normally blow up on people, and on the rare occasion that he had, it meant something was pretty seriously wrong.

            "All right, spill it... what's eating at you?"

            "It's this case I've been given..." Harrington began, motioning at the copy of the case file that Sturgis had made for him.

            Taking the hint, Singer picked up the file, and opened it.  "Marine Gunny Sergeant William McDowell... oh my God..." She muttered, "Is this the same...?"

            "You know as well as I do that it is." Harrington muttered.

            "You can't possibly take this case, Steve.  You have to tell the Admiral about this."

            "What, and tell him I can't do my job?  I can't just pick and choose who I argue for."

            "There are certain situations in which withdrawing from a case is perfectly understandable, and this easily qualifies as one of those situations." Singer argued.  "This man..."

            "I know what he did, Loren.  I was there." Harrington interrupted.

            "If you won't tell the Admiral about this, I will."

            Harrington stood, glaring at his officemate, "You most certainly will not.  I can handle this just fine."

            "But..."

            "Now you are going to promise me that you will not tell the Admiral about this."

            Singer relented.  "All right... I won't report this to Admiral Chegwidden."

            "Thank you, Loren." With that, Harrington retrieved the folder from Singer's hands, and began working.

            Lt. Singer also took her seat, as she did so thinking, "However, there might be someone else I can report this to."

Commander Rabb's office- 1300 

            "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Harm asked warily.  Lt. Singer was not one to just drop by for a chat.  She wanted something.

            "I was just wondering if you could deliver a message along to Commander Turner for me, sir." Singer asked, trying very hard not to appear nervous.

            "Why can't you just deliver the message to him yourself, Lieutenant?"

            "Because I'm sure you realize that Commander Turner and I really do not have the best of working relationships, sir.  He'd be considerably more likely to listen to you than to me."

            Harm regarded Lt. Singer carefully.  "Just what message are you asking me to deliver?"

            "I would like Commander Turner to remove Major Harrington from the McDowell case." Singer said, then immediately cringed.  That was not the way she wanted to word that request.

            "Why?  Are you hoping to be assigned in his place?" Harm accused.  That sounded a lot like the old Lt. Singer.

            "Actually, sir... I don't want that case, either." She replied.

            "I bet you don't..." Harm replied, not in the least bit convinced.  

            Singer inhaled, "I can see that you don't believe me, sir.  Fine.  I won't waste your time any longer."  She purposefully strode out the door of Harm's office, leaving the Commander to ponder the sort of friend who would try to stab her friend in the back.

Breakroom- 1320 

            Lt. Singer looked down at the lunch she had brought with her as it came out of the microwave.  It was a small Tupperware container filled with Cheese ravioli in a meat sauce that Harrington had made when the pair had returned to Washington.  But rather than eat it, she stared at the dish vacantly, her mind working furiously for any possible solution to her friend's dilemma.

            "A penny for your thoughts, Lieutenant." A woman's voice asked.  Singer looked up to see Colonel MacKenzie looking down at the sitting Lieutenant.  "Commander Rabb told me about the little meeting you had with him."

            "I'm sure..." Singer muttered.

            "Why would you try to remove your own supposed friend from his case?"

            "It's complicated, ma'am."

            Mac sat down in the chair across from Lt. Singer, and couldn't help but state, "Try me."

            "The person the Major is defending... well, they've met before."

            "And?"

            Singer shook her head.  "I'm not very comfortable talking about this... I just wanted someone to deliver my message to Commander Turner."

            "Consider it delivered, then." Sturgis commented dryly as he entered the break room.  "Commander Rabb did indeed talk to me, Lieutenant, and like the Colonel here, I am curious as to why you made your request."

            "Isn't it enough that Major Harrington is bothered by working this case, sir?"

            "I'll admit, his behavior upon receiving notice of the McDowell case has been unlike what he has shown since coming here, but I didn't think it was serious enough to warrant asking for his removal.  I figured if it was a serious issue, he would tell me himself."

            Singer sighed, "He doesn't want to seem like he can't handle the job, sir.  He's a lot like me in that respect."

            "Regardless, if I make a motion to remove a partner from a case, I need a pretty good reason to do so.  His behavior just isn't enough for me." Sturgis declared.

            "Thus emerges my dilemma..." Singer mumbled to herself.  She really didn't want to talk about her past to people she wasn't sure she fully trusted, but at the same time, she couldn't let Harrington continue with defending a man that had done the sort of things he had done...

            Finally, the Lieutenant moaned softly in defeat.  "All right... but can we go someplace private to discuss this?"

            Mac motioned across the bullpen, "We can go to my office."

            Sturgis cut in, and said, "No offense, Colonel, but I believe this issue is between Lieutenant Singer and myself.  I appreciate the offer, however."

            Mac looked somewhat disappointed, but she realized the validity to Sturgis's point.  As much as she wanted to dig a little deeper into Singer's psyche, this discussion really didn't have much to do with her.

Commander Turner's office- 1350 

            "All right, Lieutenant, what is this all about?" Sturgis asked warily.  He still wasn't totally convinced that Singer wasn't just pulling another one of her power-play stunts, however, he couldn't help but get a feeling that something was up.

            "As you may have heard, Gunny Sergeant McDowell and Major Harrington have a bit of a past, one that will make the Major's defense of this case extremely difficult." Singer explained, rubbing her hands together.  She really didn't want to have to talk about this, but it had become necessary.

            "How so?"

            "Well... it has to do with..."

Flashback Sequence 

            "You are not going to that... whore's funeral!" Marcia Singer demanded of her daughter from over the telephone.

            "That whore, as you call her, was my friend's aunt." Loren replied.  "And to be a whore, you need to sleep around, not be a lesbian."

            "That's another thing we need to talk about, young lady.  That woman has probably made your friend queer too."

            "I cannot believe you are saying this." Loren said venomously.  A woman had just been drug from the back of a Mercedes for three miles, then hung and beaten, and the only thing Loren's mother was worried about was Steve's sexual orientation.

            "I will not allow my daughter to be seen with a bunch of fags!"

            "I dare you to try and stop me!" With that, Loren slammed the phone down onto the receiver, and continued to apply her make-up.  In the last week since Steve's aunt, Nina, had been murdered, Loren had been arguing frequently with her mother about Loren's association with "queers", "fags", and "dirty devil-worshippers".

            "Another talk with your mother?" Steve asked wryly as he waited for his friend to finish.  Despite what must have obviously been a troubling time, Steve kept his smile on his face... while his eyes told an entirely different story.

            "Don't worry about my mother.  She's just ignorant and doesn't know any better.  I'm worried about you." Loren sighed.

            "I'm not the one who was murdered." Steve commented.

            "That's true... but I'm not the one who has to listen to people spout hatefully about a woman who had to fight to keep me in the family, and selflessly devote most of her life to raise me."

            Steve shrugged, and replied, "I can't change what people say.  I know the sort of person my aunt was, and it wasn't anything like what they pretend to know."  Finally, he asked, "Are we ready to go now?"

            Loren nodded, and smiled as Steve held open the door for her.  "Still the gentlemen through it all."

            The funeral itself was a small one.  There were only 10 people in attendance, including Loren and Steve.  Of the remaining eight, only four were of Steve's extended family.  The other four she could only assume were friends of Steve's aunt, Nina Toretto.

            It was hard to hear the reverend making the final prayer, mostly due to the small demonstration outside the cemetery, picketing the funeral.  They had been shouting for about an hour, since the funeral started, and had refused to even let the funeral procession enter the cemetery until the police arrived.

            "GOD HATES FAGS!" The mob shouted repeatedly, thrusting signs into the air that bore messages like, "GOD DID NOT SAY, THOU SHALT EAT CARPET", "WHAT DO YOU CALL A FAG-KILLER?  A HERO", or "ALL QUEERS GO TO HELL".  It had started as a small gathering outside, but at the end of the service, had grown to almost a hundred, and had become so loud in their protest that they were actually yelling over the funeral.

            Through it all, Loren found it ironic that all the cameras from the various news crews were on the demonstrators, and not the woman who had been brutally murdered just days before.  Steve simply looked at the closed casket (it had to be after what had happened to her) as if the protestors didn't exist, blinking repeatedly to fight back tears.

            "With this, oh Lord, we commit Nina Toretto to the dust.  May your will forgive her for her sins.  Amen." The reverend concluded.

            Loren just couldn't find it in herself to repeat the refrain.  These last few days had destroyed much of the faith she had once held.  To see how supposedly good people could have such hate for another simply because of a preference... it was too much for Loren to believe.  What God would allow such hatred to plague his people?

            Steve didn't actually watch his aunt be buried, as if he couldn't bear to see something so final.  He turned away, and Loren followed to try and console him as best she could.  Thus, the pair never saw the four unknown visitors until one of them spoke.

            "It's unfortunate that you lost someone close to you." The man in front stated simply, "But it was for the best."

            "How was it for the best?" Loren demanded.

            The man sneered, and whispered just loud enough for Steve and Loren to hear, "That's one less fag corrupting this earth.  I made sure that the devil accepted her."

            "What?"  Loren gaped.  "You aren't speaking any sense."

            "How can I make it clearer?" The man replied, "I killed the lesbo.  I sent the little carpet-muncher on her one-way trip to the hot place in a hand basket."

            Loren's eyes bulged, and she was about to call out to one of the officers guarding the entrance.  "Go ahead, call the pigs.  On what grounds am I going to be arrested?  I never said anything."  The man's smirk made Loren physically ill.

            The four began to walk away, but not before their leader said cockily, "The cops will never find out it was me.  They don't _want to find out it was me."_

            Through all this, she had totally forgotten about her friend, who had said nothing during the entire exchange.  "Steve... I... the man's just sick... we have no idea..."

            Steve shook his head.  "They were the ones who killed Aunt Nina."

            "Don't listen to them... how could they..."

            Steve interrupted her by lifting a small gold locket in front of her face.  "One of that man's little friends handed this to me while you were arguing with him.  There was only one way they could have gotten a hold of this locket.  It never left my Aunt Nina's chest."

Commander Turner's office- 1408 

            "And when you saw Gunny Sergeant McDowell's face... you knew it was the same guy." Sturgis concluded, "The charge that McDowell was facing was also a pretty good clue, wasn't it?"

            "I'll never forget that face, sir... and I can guarantee you Major Harrington never has forgotten it either." Singer confirmed.

            Sturgis rubbed his upper lip with his index finger.  "Well, no offense, Lieutenant, but I would like to confirm this story.  If it is indeed as you say, then I think there is sufficient grounds for me to ask for Major Harrington's removal from this case."

            Sturgis stood to leave his office, and noted, "I almost wish there were sufficient grounds for me to ask for _my removal from this case..."_

            "Commander, remember when I told you I wasn't a practicing Methodist?" Singer asked.

            "Certainly." Sturgis replied... the revelation that Singer had pretty much lied her way through an entire trial had never set well with him.

            "Well, the reason for that came right after the funeral.  After everything that had happened inside the cemetery, I happened to see my parents right at the front of the protesting mob, leading the demonstration." Singer explained.  "That's why they didn't want me to go... they didn't want to explain what their daughter was doing at a lesbian's funeral."

Bullpen- 1413 

            Sturgis strode quickly through the bullpen, Lt. Singer right behind him.  If what Singer had told him was true, there was no way that Major Harrington should continue on the case... simply for his sake.

            On their way to meet Major Harrington, Colonel MacKenzie met them.  "I take it you are here to confirm Lt. Singer's explanation?"

            "Indeed, Colonel." Sturgis affirmed.

            "Well, if it involves Gunny Sergeant McDowell admitting to the murder of Nina Torreto, then you can save yourself a lot of time.  While you two were talking it over, I decided to squeeze the same out of our Major friend."

            "Well then, what now?" Singer asked.

            "I ask for Major Harrington to be removed as counsel.  I'll need you two to back me up on this."

Chegwidden's Office- 1540 

            "Why didn't you address this issue with me, Major Harrington?" The Admiral asked.  Much of the workday had been wasted trying to piece together something that should have been disclosed right from the beginning.

            "I didn't want you to think that I was making excuses not to do my duty." Harrington explained.

            Chegwidden sighed in disgust.  "Major, I may ask for a lot of things out of my officers, but one thing I try to make clear is for everyone to know their own limits.  I want to help my officers any way I can, but I can't do that if they aren't telling me when something is wrong."

            "I understand, sir."

            "Major Harrington, I almost can't believe I am saying this, but I think you owe Lt. Singer quite the debt of gratitude.  Had I not learned of this issue until after the trial had started... you would not still be standing here.  Understand?"

            "Yes, sir."

            Chegwidden waved his hand at the door, and said, "Dismissed, Major."

            One final salute, and Harrington quickly made his way out of the office.  Once outside, he allowed himself to exhale.  He didn't have long before Lt. Commander Roberts approached him.

            "Major, I need your McDowell case file." Bud stated.

            "Yeah, of course." Harrington dug into his briefcase, and pulling out the folder in question.  "I'd say I envy you... but I'd be lying."

            "If half of what I heard about this man is true, I'm not looking forward to helping defend him.  But I can only do my best."

            'You have no idea...' Harrington thought to himself, smirking.

            "It's good to see the old Major Harrington back." Bud commented.  "We all had missed him."

            "It's good to be back, Lt. Commander."

Outside JAG Headquarters- 1707 

            Singer waited uncertainly for the downpour outside to at least let up somewhat so that she could make a quick dash for her car.  "I wish I had watched the Weather Channel this morning…"

            "Going my way?" A familiar voice asked.  Turning to see Harrington approach behind her, she looked up to see a large black umbrella over her head.

            Singer chuckled softly, and replied, "I am now."

            As Harrington escorted her out to her car, he commented, "You know… the Admiral says I owe you… and I think I agree.  Thanks for watching out for me."

            "After all the times you've saved my six, I'm still considerably in _your debt."_

            "37 times… to be exact." Harrington answered with a sly expression.  "Not that anyone's counting or anything…"

            "No… of course not…" Singer commented wryly.

"I'm just impressed that you were willing to talk about yourself to help me.  I know how hard it is to discuss all that's happened to you." Harrington admitted.

"As you like to say, what are friends for?" Singer replied, "Besides, there is an upside to it all.  Commander Turner has promised not to bother me about my religious inclinations anymore."

Finally, Singer changed the topic, "It still bothers you… your aunt's death, I mean."

            "Of course it bothers me." Harrington answered, "The man who killed her has been walking free for the last 5 years, and with Commander Turner and Lt. Commander Roberts defending him, just might walk away again."

            "Perhaps…" Singer sung sweetly, "But the Admiral and I had a bit of a talk about this issue, and we convinced the Chiefs of Staff to allow Admiral Chegwidden the choice of prosecutor.  Commander Turner and Lt. Commander Roberts are going to have their hands full with Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie running the prosecution's case."

            "That's good to hear." Harrington replied.

            "That's not all the news I have to relay, either.  The Admiral has decided that we should return to our old stomping grounds in New England."

            "Why?"

            "We're being sent to investigate a certain case that happened 5 years ago… with the hopes of being able to add premeditated first degree murder to Gunny Sergeant McDowell's list of charges…"****

End Episode 5 


	6. Called Back to the Minors

Author's Note:  Sorry about the long wait in this chapter… I had tried to make my computer a dual-boot system.  However, Windows 98 and Red Hat Linux 7.0 decided that they didn't like each other, and decided that since one of them couldn't control the system, neither would.  After my computer bombed like "The Blair Witch Project 2", it took me this long just to put the mess back together again.  Sorry for the wait.

Episode 6 Called Back to the Minors Old Toretto Residence, Hartford, CT- 1017 EST, September 5 

"I'm amazed that no one has bought this place yet." Singer noted as Harrington unlocked the front door, and then opened the row house's mahogany doorway.

"Well, this isn't exactly the best part of Hartford." he explained, "And not too many people are interested… considering the previous owner."

"So… what exactly are we doing here?"

Harrington inhaled deeply, "We are looking for anything that might indicate that my aunt had a suspicion that something was going to happen to her.  It's one of the ways that investigators prove a premeditated intent before a violent act."

Looking around the small residence, he then added, "Besides… I rather wanted to visit this place one more time."

"Don't you think the police would have searched this place?" Singer queried.

"Remember what McDowell said?  That the police didn't _want_ to find him?  I think he might have had a point.  I've received hints over the years that the investigation into my aunt's death wasn't very… thorough."

Singer looked over the dusty remains of the row house, showing signs of neglect.  It's likely that no one had ever been in the place for an extended period of time since Nina's death.

Singer's eyes fell on the dining room table, looking like a skeleton of its former self, coated in dust and grime.  She had remembered visiting this place during her classes, and even though only Nina was the only one who lived there on a permanent basis, the table always seemed to have a life about it… there was always energy around that simple piece of furniture.

"Loren… you in there?"

Singer jolted as she felt Harrington's hand fall on her shoulder.  "You all right?" he asked.

"Oh… yes, I'm quite all right." She replied.

"Then what's with the leak?"

It took Singer a moment to feel the hot wetness of a tear sliding down her cheek.  Wiping it away, and inwardly cursing a moment of weakness, she answered, "No… I don't know… probably some dust in my eye…"

Harrington didn't challenge her explanation, just looked at her disbelievingly.

Ironically, Singer could hold up to a barrage of questions from angry co-workers, deal with the angered ranting of her commanding officer, and even lie directly to her parents' faces without as much as batting an eyelash; but one disapproving glance from her old college friend sent her reeling.

In defeat, she finally admitted, "It's just… I don't know… this place was the closest I've ever had to a home.  I knew I could count on the odd weekend, that I could take a trip with you to visit your aunt, and that I could sit down at this table while you and your aunt whipped up some culinary delight, then we would sit in the living room, and listen to the radio, watch the news, or just talk."

Singer motioned to the upstairs, and said, "Hell, I came to think of the guest bedroom as _my_ bedroom.  I felt safer there than in the bed that I had spent most of my childhood in.  No one belittled me here… no one judged me here… I felt good here…"

Harrington simply smiled, "Aunt Nina really liked having you around.  Whenever I would visit by myself, she would always when Loren was going to visit again.  'She is such a shy little girl.' Aunt Nina would often say… then she got to really know you."

"Har har." Singer retorted.

"Anyway, as much as I would love to take a nice long trip of our memories, we are here to do a job, and the sooner we get it done, the better."  Harrington reminded.

"Which begs me to ask, what could possibly be here after 5 years?"

Harrington paused, "Aunt Nina kept a personal lockbox in a cubby attic.  Only Aunt Nina and myself knew about it.  She kept a personal journal that she updated daily.  If she had any inkling something was about to happen to her, she might have made note of it."

Henderson Hall Detention Center, Arlington, VA- 1120 EST 

            Bud turned to Sturgis, and said, "It's days like these that I hate being a JAG officer.  I wish I had an out like Major Harrington did."

            Sturgis frowned, "You're not the only one.  However, I sincerely doubt any of us have an excuse like our Major friend did.  Thus, we must do the job assigned to us the best we possibly can."

            Entering the interview room, they saw Gunny Sergeant William McDowell leaning against his chair, arms crossed defiantly.  He had the look of a man way too cocky for his own good.

            "Well, if it isn't the lawyers…" He muttered.

            Bud snorted, and said indignantly, "We are superior officers to you, I suggest you show some respect."

            "You aren't any officer of mine." McDowell replied, "And no damn cripple is EVER going to be superior to me." The Gunny Sergeant pointed derisively towards Bud's prosthetic leg.

            Sturgis couldn't believe the bile coming out of McDowell's mouth.  "Inflammatory words like that will…"

            McDowell interrupted, "Will what?  Get me court-martialed?  Hello!  I already _am_ being court-martialed.  I just want to get this over with, get my 'punishment' in place, and be done with it."

            "So, you plan to plead guilty?" Bud asked.

            "Hell, sure.  The guy was a homo, and I beat him up.  Pretty damn cut and dry if you ask me.  It was stupid of me, but I did it.  No sense wasting everyone's time with a trial that will only tell everyone what they already know."

            Sturgis cut in, and added, "Well, it might not be that cut and dry.  JAG is currently investigating a possible connection you might have had to a similar hate crime committed five years ago… one that will have considerably more serious consequences."

            McDowell blanched.  "What in the blazing hell are you jabbering about?"

            "Five years ago, before you joined the Marines, a woman in Hartford was killed, by the name of Nina Toretto.  She was lesbian, and considering your residence at the time, as well as a couple witness testimonies, further investigation could lead to the addition of first degree premeditated murder."

            "I don't understand legal mumbo-jumbo, you idiot!  Speak English, for chrissake."

            Sturgis clenched his teeth.  He had encountered some irritating and obnoxious clients in his day, but none had ever taken him this far.  Sturgis was about three seconds away from beating Sergeant McDowell to death with Bud's prosthetic.

            Fortunately, Bud answered for him.  "Sergeant McDowell, premeditated first degree murder can lead to the death penalty."

            The levity of Bud's statement did nothing to McDowell's cocky demeanor.  "So what?  I didn't kill any lesbo."

            Neither Sturgis nor Bud was at all convinced by the Marine Gunny's denial.  Normally, Sturgis was a patient man, but this interview was getting to be even more than he can handle.  "I think we've gotten as far as we can today, Sergeant." He finally stated, "We will contact you as we get more information."

            "Whatever."

            As the two lawyers left the interview room, Sturgis decided to test a suspicion that had been tugging at the back of his mind.  "What do you think about our client, Lt. Roberts?"

            "You mean, other than he is the most obnoxious and hateful asshole I've ever met?" Bud replied.

            Sturgis smirked.  "Yes… other than that."

            Bud thought about it then came to a conclusion. "He seemed like he was in quite the hurry to declare himself guilty."

            "That's what I thought too.  I think he's afraid that something about the Torretto murder is going to come to light, and is hoping that getting jail time for this lesser charge is going to spare him the more serious one."  Sturgis agreed.

            "Should we tell him that's not the way the legal system works?" Bud asked wryly.

            "Perhaps it's best if he learns that on his own."

Hotel Marriott, Hartford, CT- 2000 EST 

            "So… anything in Nina's journal?" Singer asked curiously.

            "Not a damn thing…" Harrington sighed, "But the journal was a long shot to begin with."

            "So, now what?"

            Harrington tapped his forehead with his left index finger.  "We wait for a bolt of inspiration to come to us."

            "That's kinda boring, don't you think?"

            "That's investigation for you.  You get leads, you investigate them, and if they don't pan out, you wait for more leads.  Unfortunately, with a case that's been lying dormant for five years, leads can be rare."

            Three minutes later, the phone rang, and Singer beat Harrington to the receiver.  "Lt. Singer, JAG.  What can I do… oh… mother!"

            While her voice didn't betray any emotion, the frown on Singer's face told Harrington all he needed to know.  "I don't know, I am rather busy… besides, I'm not alone here…" Singer protested.  However, if the person on the line was who Harrington thought it was, he knew that this was one issue Singer was not going to win.

            "Listen… I just don't have time… no, mother, I'm not avoiding you… I can't just leave my partner… no, mother, I don't think he wants to join us…" Singer looked up pleadingly at Harrington, who started waving his arms frantically in denial of her unspoken request.  Meanwhile, Singer continued dejectedly, "No, mother… he is _not_ my boyfriend… he's not my fiancée or my husband, either…" Singer rolled her eyes in disbelief.  Once again, she silently pleaded to Harrington, and finally the Air Force officer yielded.

            "All right, mother, we shall meet you and father tomorrow evening for dinner." Singer finally agreed, "We'll be there around six.  Yes, I'll be sure to dress nice.  Goodnight, mother."

            Singer sat the phone back down onto the hook, and started visibly trembling in a mixture of anger, frustration, and depression.  "How does she talk me into these things?"

            Harrington scoffed, and amended, "I think the more pertinent question is how _you_ talk _me_ into these things…"

_Harm's Apartment, 2120 EST_

            "So, Gunny Sergeant McDowell is going to plead guilty to discriminatory assault…  Well, that makes our job on that count easy." Harm said as Sturgis explained the situation over the phone.  "No, I haven't heard anything from Major Harrington or Lieutenant Singer yet.  Thanks for the info, Sturgis.  I'll let you know if Harrington contacts me."

            Harm hung up, and turned to Mac.  "I think you can guess who that was."

            Mac nodded, "Well, that at least takes care of one case we have to do."

            "For now."

            The Colonel sighed, and asked, "Do you think Steve and Lt. Singer will find something that investigators haven't in 5 years?"

            Harm shrugged as he sat down at his chair, taking a brief glance at the next case file in his pile.  "The impression I get of Harrington is that he can be a real bulldog when he wants to be, and we both know just how determined Singer gets.  If _anything_ can be found… I wouldn't bet money against those two finding it."

_Singer Estate, Greenwich, CT- 1800 EST, September 6_

            Singer inhaled deeply as she prepared to knock on the door.  However, Harrington stepped around her, and did so himself.  "Better to get it over with now, rather than stall on their front porch.  They'll wonder what we're up to." He muttered to his partner.

            It was the Singer's hired help (a.k.a. maid) who answered the door.  "Loren, it is so nice to see you again… and… oh my, I know you, Mr. Harrington."

            "It's nice to see you again, Maria." Singer replied.  She was certain that Maria Lopez possessed a totally photographic memory, especially since Harrington had only visited Singer's childhood home once in his life.

            Maria returned Singer's pleasantries, and addressed Harrington again.  "Perhaps if you can slip inside the kitchen tonight, you can aid me with dinner.  It's always nice to have an extra pair of hands."

            Harrington laughed.  "I'll see what I can do."

            "Well, perhaps we should meet the owners of the estate before they wonder if we've gotten lost in the hallways." Maria declared.  "Follow me."

            As they proceeded through the almost maze-like series of halls and corridors, Harrington commented, "You know… if I had Maria's memory, do you realize the sort of things I could do?"

            "To hell with you… I'm thinking about what _I_ could do…" was Singer's playful reply.

            Further conversation was interrupted as they finally emerged into a large recreational room decorated in velvet, silk, and red oriental carpet.  Marcia Singer immediately jumped up to embrace her daughter, "Loren… it has been so long!  You really must visit more often."

            "My job keeps me very busy, mother." Singer replied.

            "No job is more important than family." Marcia chided, "If you can't make time in your busy schedule to at lease give your mother a call… it's like I don't have a daughter anymore."

            Harrington would have listened into their conversation further had not Francis Singer decided to address their guest.  "Who is this young man?"

            "Major Steven Harrington, sir.  It's a pleasure." Harrington replied.

            Francis paused at the name.  "Harrington.  That name sounds familiar…" But before Harrington could answer, Francis added, "Ah, it doesn't matter.  It's good to meet you, Mr. Harrington."

            "Likewise." Harrington then looked around the room, and said.

            Marcia then addressed the pair of lawyers, asking, "So what exactly does bring you out to Connecticut?"

            "We are investigating potential charges that could be brought up against a Marine in Virginia." Singer answered, intentionally vague.  At the moment, it didn't appear that they remembered Harrington, or his relation to Aunt Nina.  She would like it to stay that way as long as possible.

            "A Marine from here?  Do we know him?"

            Harrington cut in, apparently keying in on her wish to keep things from getting very specific.  "It's classified, ma'am.  This soldier is facing serious charges that we can't discuss in a civilian setting."

            As Singer mouthed a silent "thank you" to her partner, Marcia said softly, "Oh… I didn't mean to pry."  She gently clapped her hands, and said, "How about some refreshments before dinner?"

            Maria entered with several small wine glasses on a tray, and a red wine that Harrington couldn't quite identify from his position.  Marcia handed out the glasses; Maria poured the vintage and mentioned "Dinner should be ready in ten minutes."

            "Thank you, Maria." Marcia stated simply, and the maid strode back towards the dining area.  "I suppose we might as well take our seats at the table.  By the time we're all in our seats, it should be just about finished."

            Dinner was a quiet affair, at first.  Once the first appetizers were served, Marcia promptly moved into her questioning.  "Loren, dear… have you been promoted yet?"

            "No…" Singer began, "I'm still a lieutenant."

            Marcia sighed in dismay, "Young lady, what is taking so long?  A talented and skilled young woman like yourself should be running the show over there by now."

            Harrington cut to Singer's defense.  "Promotions just aren't granted like partnerships in a law firm, Mrs. Singer.  Many factors come into play in regards to who moves up a rank.  I've been stuck at Major for two years simply because no one higher up the chain of command has stepped down."

            Marcia then scoffed, and replied, "Well then, perhaps you need to find a career choice more suited for you.  I never liked the idea of you joining the military in the first place.  Had you joined a private law firm, you wouldn't be in this mess…"

            "Mother…" Singer began.  She had heard this rebuke time and time again.

            "You know the Boyd family down the road?  Their son, Roger, is already a senior partner in his firm.  Do you know how awkward it is when other families brag about their children, and I can't say anything about you… my _only_ daughter?"

            Fortunately, continued debate was ended with the arrival of the main course, a pork roast.  Harrington judged it was marinated in a sweet onion sauce judging from the smell.  Maria sat down the large roasting pan on a warming tray, and began to slice servings.  Harrington analyzed his portion, and took a small bite.

            Without thinking, he offered some advice to Maria.  "Next time, apply the marinade a little sooner so that it has a chance to fully soak in."

            That offhanded statement was what clicked everything in Francis Singer's mind.  "Harrington!  Now I remember who you are!  You're the nephew of that Toretto woman!"

            Marcia gasped, and added, "He is!  That's where we heard of you!"  At that point, she put two and two together.  "You're investigating her murder, aren't you?"

            "A marine was put into detainment last week for assaulting a suspected homosexual in his platoon.  Our commanding officer and I agreed that considering his previous residence and timeframe involved, that he might have had something to do with the Toretto murder." Harrington explained.  Now that the cover was blown, there was no sense trying to play nice.

            "Listen, young man.  I'm telling you this for your own good." Francis stated, "The people who killed Nina Toretto are not going to be found.  There are too many others who have made sure that no one will be able to find them."

            "Like you, father?" Singer snapped.

            Francis bristled at his daughter's accusation.  His momentary silence allowed Marcia to cut in, "Young lady, let me tell you something.  Nina Toretto could have lived a nice long life, but instead she tried to force her lifestyle choice down everyone's throat.  When she spoke out during that GLADD rally in Hartford 5 years back, it gave every one of those fanatics a reason to silence her."

            Harrington's eyes went wide, and he went rigid.  No one noticed however, as the rest of the dinner party was focused on Singer and her mother.

            Marcia then leaned over towards her daughter, and continued, "She invited trouble, and once she got it, everyone started whining about how she was wronged, somewhat like you and that Crenshaw fellow when you were in college.  You dressed like a slut that night, then started crying like a little baby when he 'took advantage' of you…"

            That jab served to jolt Harrington out of his own little world, and he didn't look too happy about that.  He had managed to regain his composure just long enough to see Singer's eyes begin to fill with tears.  "Mrs. Singer, you can say whatever you want about my aunt and myself… that is your prerogative.  However, I find it absolutely despicable what you have said to 'your _only_ daughter'.  I could get into this argument further, but I get the feeling I'd just be wasting my time."

            He turned to Singer, who was trying very hard not to show just how hurt she was.  "Loren, we're leaving now." From there, he looked at Maria, who was standing halfway through the doorway to the kitchen, unsure as to what she was supposed to do.  "Dinner was quite well done, Ms. Lopez… it was only the hosts that left a bad taste in my mouth."

            Escorting Singer out of the dining area, he said without looking back, "We'll find our own way out, sir and ma'am.  I'd wish you two a wonderful evening, but I'd be lying."

_State Route #8, just outside Greenwich, CT- 1920 EST_

            "You know, I think I might have just gotten our next lead in this investigation." Harrington noted, finally breaking the silence in the rental car.

            "How so?" Singer asked flippantly, as if she really didn't care.

            "Ironically, I have your mother to thank for it.  When Aunt Nina spoke at the GLAAD rally at the Hartford City Center, everyone who came in had to sign into the guest list for the presentation."

            Waiting for Singer to reach the same conclusion he did, he was somewhat disappointed when his partner didn't even seem to be listening to him.  "I was thinking that if we found a certain name on the guest list, it would be a nice start to establishing pre-meditated intent."

            Once again, Singer didn't reply, and Harrington was pretty sure why.  Turning on the emergency blinkers, Harrington pulled off the road, and placed the car in park.  He put his right hand on Singer's shoulder, and said, "Hey, look at me."

            Singer did so, and despite the increasing darkness, Harrington could easily see the glimmer of a wet trail down her cheeks.  "Loren, don't believe a word that your mother said to you.  You were _not_ at fault for what happened.  You did _nothing_ wrong."

            "It's not that…" Singer began with a muffled sob, "It's just everything…"

            Harrington sighed, and turned as much as he could so that he was as square to his partner as possible.  "I don't understand why you even give their opinions any weight at all.  I don't care what they say about your career or who you are or what you've done.  You have done very well for yourself, Loren.  Don't let their ridiculous expectations make you feel any less."

            Harrington gave another smile, and added, "You're a great lawyer, and to even be where you are at all is an incredible accomplishment.  I don't know if it means anything, but I'm very proud of you."

            Biting back another sob, Singer managed, "Actually… it means a lot.  Thanks."

            Harrington turned back towards the wheel.  "Hey, the best way to get at them is to do what they think can't be done.  What do you say that we hunt down the others involved in this crime while we get our premeditated charge on McDowell?"

            "Do you think we can?"  

From the corner of his vision, Harrington could see the light of challenge starting to burn in his partner's expression.  "It's worth a shot." He finished as he put the vehicle back in gear, and merged back onto the road.

_Hotel Marriott- 0916 EST, September 7_

            "I got the guest list." Harrington said as he printed up the document that had been sent to his e-mail.

            Singer pulled the sheets out of the portable printer connected to Harrington's laptop before the Air Force officer could even turn to take the printout himself.  Her eyes perused the scanned signatures.  Some of them were totally illegible, as most human handwriting is.  However, the next blank over contained the names of each guest as well, only where the guests were required to print their name.

            "Do you think that McDowell would have used his own name?" Singer asked.

            "Maybe not, but I'm gambling that he might not have known he was going to kill Aunt Nina until after he saw the presentation, and thus, wouldn't have felt the need to hide his identity."

            With further thought, Harrington added, "Besides, one mistake that investigators often make is that they think the perpetrator is smarter than he or she really is.  He might not have even thought to put down a different name."

            Singer flipped to the next page, and then the next.  On the fifth page of names, she found what she was looking for.  "Here it is!  William McDowell.  He indeed was at the GLAAD rally."

            "All right… now comes the next step." Harrington concluded, turning back to his laptop.  "Could you hand me the phone?"

            Singer did as requested, but not without asking, "Now what are you doing?"

            "Well, we might have enough to establish premeditated first degree with this… but I want to make sure that we have enough evidence to make this charge open and shut, and that would require finding and getting testimony from the other three accomplices."

            "And how are we going to do that?"

            Steve started to punch in numbers on the phone as he explained.  "Well, if they _executed_ the murder as a group, then it's likely that they _planned_ the murder as a group as well."  From there, the other end of the call apparently picked up.  "Hey, Ronnie… yes, it's me again.  Got another favor to ask of you…  no, it doesn't involve Navy SEALs this time.  I just need you to cross-reference a guest list I'm sending you with current and former members of GLAAD.  Anyone on the guest list that isn't a member, I'd like you to e-mail those names back to me, okay?  Thanks, Ronnie, you're a doll.  See ya later."

            Harrington handed the phone unit back to Singer, who glared at him disapprovingly.  Confused, he asked with a sheepish smile, "What did I do?"

            Singer had to think about that… and came up with nothing.  Why was she scowling at him for talking to an old co-worker?  "Nothing…" Singer finally replied, placing the phone back in its normal place.  "I've noticed that you don't talk to me the way you do to Ronnie…" She muttered more to herself than to Harrington.

            Nonetheless, her partner heard the statement.  With a smile that was holding in a chuckle, Harrington asked, "Would you like me to call you a 'doll', Loren?"

            "No!" Singer yelped indignantly.

            Harrington started to laugh, "Then why complain?  Are you jealous?"

            Singer glared, "Jealous?  Of what, pray tell?"  However, she couldn't keep up her angry façade.  "You are the utter limit, Steve.  You get some strange ideas in your head."

            With a shrug, Harrington replied, "I try."

            Before Singer could reply, Steve's laptop suddenly chimed in that irritating monotone, "You've got mail!"

            "Wow… that was quick." Steve replied as he opened the e-mail from Ronnie.  "Hmm… seventeen names that don't match the GLAAD membership.  That was a little more than I expected.  Looks like we've got some work ahead of us."

_1739 EST_

            Singer tiredly threw her briefcase down on the small workspace table.  "That went nowhere…"

            "Not necessarily.  I think we have a pretty good idea as to who McDowell's three accomplices were." Harrington replied.

            "Yeah… all three had vanished without a trace.  I think my father was right… some people went to great lengths to make sure that the killers weren't found.  Makes me wonder why McDowell is in the Marines."

            "Perhaps he didn't feel he needed help." Harrington replied with a shrug.  "The important thing is locating his three accomplices."

            "And how do we go about finding these men, pray tell?"

            Harrington shrugged, "I could make a few calls, see what turns up.  But other than that… not much, I'll admit."

            Singer frowned, and said, "Well, then, how about while you make the calls, I'll go into my room, change out of my uniform, and then we can go down into the lobby, and get something to eat?"

            "Sounds good." Harrington agreed.  "Perhaps you can give me some time to change as well?"

            "I suppose… but you look so cute in your dress blues."

            "Cute?" Harrington raised an eyebrow.

            "All boys are cute when they dress up." Singer teased.

            "Boys?"

            "Hey, young man, learn to respect your elders." She could barely keep a straight face by that point.

            "You're only four months older than me, Ms. Singer." Harrington answered then decided two could play those games.  "Then again, when you're an old crone, you have to take any advantage you could get."

            "Oh… you're gonna pay for that little remark, young man." Singer threatened playfully.  "But I do need to get changed." With that, she retreated into her room, and closed the door.

_Marriott Lobby- 1804_

            "So, your contacts didn't lead anywhere?" Singer asked as she took a small sip of the club soda she had ordered.

            Harrington shrugged, "Don't know yet.  People can't just pull info out of their sixes, you know.  Unlike Ronnie, they can't just tap a few commands on a computer screen, and have the info flash up."

            Singer acknowledged this, then asked, "Next question… just how do you have all these contacts?"

            "Unlike you, Loren, who spent her time out of Dartmouth playing nice as legal assistants to Admirals and the IG, I have had to get in the mud, get myself dirty, and associate with some less than savory individuals.  As gratitude, they allow me to borrow their resources now and again."

            "Ah." Singer replied, "Care to divulge some of those sources?"

            "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

            Before Singer could reply, a member of the hotel staff stopped at their table.  "Sir, Miss… a man was just at the front desk, and asked me to give this to you."  He held an envelope, unsealed and without any markings.

            Singer snatched the envelope, and said, "Thank you."  She grabbed a twenty from her purse, and gave it to the bellboy as a tip.  "Did this man leave a name?"

            "No… I asked, but he wouldn't give me one."

            Singer shook the envelope to see if she could hear anything inside.  Deciding that there wasn't anything suspicious inside, she dismissed the bellboy, and opened the envelope.  She took out a small piece of lined paper, and examined it.

            "It's a name and address…" She began, then reading out loud, added, "This kid is looking for a way out of the Toretto mess, and might be willing to talk.  Justin Callister, 1770 Prospect St, Windsor, Connecticut."

            Looking down at the bottom of the sheet, she noticed a farewell, "Love, Dad?  Did my father send me this?"

            Harrington smiled, and said, "Well, looks like your contacts came through before mine.  Tomorrow morning, we'll give this man a visit."

__

_Henderson Hall Detention Center, Arlington, VA- 1100 EST, September 9_

            "What's the deal now?" Sergeant McDowell demanded. "I told you to declare myself guilty.  What's more to talk about?"

            "The murder of Nina Toretto." Sturgis said angrily.

            McDowell dismissed it with a wave of his hand, "We've already been over this, I didn't kill anyone, much less this Toretto lesbo."

            "Is that so?" Sturgis demanded, "Well, we have two people who are willing to testify that you bragged about the murder at Toretto's funeral.  We also have a guest list from a rally featuring Toretto from two weeks before the murder that has your name on it, and there is also one of your accomplices that is ready to put his demons to rest, and is willing to take the stand against you."

            McDowell's face blanched, "You're bluffing.  I want a private attorney."

            "You'll be wasting your money, but we certainly won't stop you." Bud replied, "Once any jury hears the testimony of Justin Callister, there is no lawyer on the face of the earth that will be able to clear you."

            Upon hearing Justin's name, McDowell dropped his act.  "That asshole… there wouldn't have been any problems… I should have known he'd squeal… he looked sick of the whole thing while it was going on…"

            "So… you _did_ kill Nina Toretto?" Sturgis asked in a tone that suggested that he had known all along.

            "Fine… I killed the lesbo.  She went into my hometown, and tried to make everyone queer.  She paraded her immorality and illness like it was something to be proud of, and tried to make my hometown a modern day Sodom." McDowell hissed, "I decided I wasn't going to let her corrupt my city anymore, unlike cowards like you who hide behind this 'don't ask, don't tell' policy."

            "I've heard enough of this." Sturgis declared, "Let's go, Lieutenant."

            Once outside the interview room, Bud asked, "Should we make an offer for life without parole to Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb?"

            Sturgis shrugged, and replied, "We can… but there'd be no reason for them to accept it.  The case against McDowell, especially if they get a hold of a recording of this last interview, is prime material for capital punishment."

_Gainsborough Court, 1850 EST_

            Harrington answered his door, wondering who could have been visiting him.  "Harm!  I wasn't expecting you, come on in."

            Harm nodded, and stepped inside, "Well, earlier today I got an offer that I thought I should clear with you."

            Harrington blinked, and asked, "What do you mean?"

            "Commander Sturgis gave me a life without possibility of parole offer for the McDowell case, in exchange for keeping this case out of court.  Apparently, McDowell confessed to the whole deal once he learned that you had found one of his accomplices."

            Harrington shook his head, "So… what's your point?"

            "I'd take the offer… but I know what this means to you…"

            "Harm, this is your case… it's your show.  If you and Mac think that you should take this offer, then go with it." Harrington answered, "Besides, he has no chance of learning anything if he's dead.  Even if the chance is small, there is still a chance he can learn the error of his ways as long as he is alive."

            "Are you sure about this, Steve?"

            "I've had to learn many things in my life, one of them is that I cannot let my hatreds consume me from making the right decision.  Telling you to go for the death penalty is just as bad as me pulling the trigger on him myself.  I don't want his death on my hands… there's been enough killing in this affair."

            Harm smiled, "All right, Steve… Mac and I will go with this offer.  It just seems cleaner this way.  Thanks for your time."  As he turned to leave, he suddenly whirled back around.  "Wait… one more thing.  I was just wondering… I have a biplane in an airstrip around here.  I was just wondering if you'd like to feel the wind in your face one more time."

            Harrington paused, his expression blank.  He looked down at his right hand for a second, flexing each of his finger slowly.  Harm's eyes narrowed in concern, and he asked, "Steve… you okay?"

            Harrington snapped out of his trance, and blinked twice.  "Oh!  Yeah, I'm fine.  So, you want to show me your pride and joy?  That's awfully nice of you."

            Harm smirked, "Nah… I just want to see if you Air Force flyboys are as good as your mouths would suggest."

            Harrington bit his lower lip, obviously stopping himself from saying something derogatory in reply.  Instead, the Air Force officer said, "I'd be glad to show you just how good us Air Force flyboys are… that is… if your plane even flies."

            Harm laughed, "You bet it flies.  I'll see you day after tomorrow, 1700.  Don't be late." Harm slipped back out the doorway, leaving Harrington to ponder if he was even ready to slide into a cockpit again…

**End Episode 6**

* * *


	7. Planning the Rotation

Author's Note: Just thought I'd put something here… like a disclaimer, I suppose.  Actually, I don't need one; I'm really the CEO of Bellasarius Productions!!!  But, seriously, I don't own this series, and I ain't got much to sue for anyway…

2nd Author's note: The plot is going to start picking up in these next few episodes, although it might not make much sense at first.  It'll be a slow trickle to begin with, so just be patient.

3rd Author's note: I know this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but I couldn't find a better place to cut off between this chapter and the next.  Episode 8 should be a bit longer than average to compensate.

**Episode 7:**

**Planning the Rotation**

****

Harm's stomach dropped as "Sarah" suddenly whirled into a steep port side dive; her port side wing pointing directly towards the ground, eventually straightening… but into an equally steep level dive at about 70 degrees towards the heavily forested area below.

Harm prepared to shout a warning to his co-pilot as the trees neared, but about 50 feet from impact, the little biplane quickly leveled off, buzzing the tops of the tallest trees by mere feet.  From there, it was a quick and heavy climb back to an altitude of 7500 feet, pulling into an inverted scissors turn, before finally returning to a properly upright and level position.

Harrington saw the pale expression on Harm's face, and said into his headset.  "Gee, Harm, how did you survive flying a Tomcat?" He teased.

Harm refused to rise to the bait, saying instead, "I'm just not used to having someone in that front seat that knows what he is doing.  I've had some less than capable co-pilots in my day."

"I doubt Mac will appreciate that." Harrington replied.

Harm shook his head, "I wasn't exactly referring to Mac… but I suppose if the shoe fits." With a serious glare, Harm added, "And don't you _dare_ tell her that, understand me, Major?"

"Understood, Commander!" Harrington laughed.  "So… have I shown you what you wanted to see?  Or is there some more tests to prove my mettle?"

Harm smirked, "No, Steve… I think you've made your point quite clear.  Maybe you airheads aren't all piss poor pilots.  You've proven some are… mediocre."

"Hey!" Harrington shouted in mock indignity, "What do they call an Air Force pilot that crashes in the ocean after a mission?"

"I don't know… what?"

"A Navy pilot."

"Hah hah." Harm said,  "I think you better land this thing back on the strip before I toss you out of that seat."

"Yes, sir!" Harrington replied with a smile, turning "Sarah" back in the direction of the airfield.  While Harrington appeared disappointed the flight was ending, in the back of his mind, he was glad it was almost over.  But with further thought, he also realized that this was good thing to do… it offered a sense of closure…

Upon landing, Harrington pulled off his helmet and gear, handing it to the strip operator.  Waiting for Harm to do the same, Harrington mused, "I wonder how your plane got its name…"

Harm stopped the conjecture before it even started, "It's coincidence.  It's also my grandmother's name."

Harrington nodded, "Ah… I didn't know your grandmother's name was spelled with an 'h' on the end."

"It is." Harm replied, then noticing Harrington's disbelieving smirk, reiterated, "It _is_."

"I believe you." Harrington replied in that tone that suggested he really didn't believe Harm at all.

Eventually Harm realized that the Major was merely giving him a hard time.  Finally dismissing the issue, Harm decided to change the subject.  "Did they let you pilot in the Air Force with your left hand?  That must have made operating instruments difficult."

Harrington froze, his pupils drawing narrow.  Taking a few deep breaths, he finally said sheepishly, "You saw that, huh?"

"That I did.  I know that you are left handed and all, but I didn't realize you were so preferential that it would make you invert your cockpit control."

"Actually, I wasn't born left-handed, I just turned out that way…"

Harm grew curious.  "How so?  I mean… I don't wish to pry…"

Harrington exhaled deeply, and sighed, "Actually, I might as well talk about it.  On my last test flight of the F-22… there was an on-board malfunction, and I had to eject.  My head struck the canopy as it blew off, and I was knocked unconscious.  Fortunately, the automatic chute deployed."

Harrington paused before finishing, "However, when I woke up… I learned that the blow to my head sent a neural shock into my system, paralyzing my right hand.  It took a few months of physical therapy, and I was able to regain most of the movement, but I'll never have the fine motor control that I used to."

Harm pursed his lips, "That's not fun… but knowing that sort of situation, you actually are quite lucky.  I know quite a few now departed pilots who would have taken your condition in a heartbeat.  It beats being dead."

"I know." Then Harrington shrugged, "It was my last test flight, anyway.  I had just passed my final bar exam the day before.  It's just a bit troubling when I think about flying again."

"You should have told me about that when I asked you, Steve."

"Actually, Harm, this was a good thing for me to do." Harrington answered.  "It was time I put those irrational fears aside."

"Always rolling with the punches, aren't you, my friend?" Harm chuckled.

"I have to.  I would have been a basket case before I turned 10 if I couldn't."

Harm shook his head, and slapped Harrington on the shoulder.  "Let's get out of here.  We'll need to make sure we're nice and rested up for tomorrow.  Word in the bullpen is that something big is coming in tomorrow."

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0900 EST, September 12 

            Harm appeared to be right.  Upon entering the Admiral's office for the daily briefing, Harrington sensed that Admiral Chegwidden's mind seemed preoccupied, as if he was thinking carefully about something.

            "Well, two issues have come to my attention, and they are to be given priority above all other cases we currently have." The Admiral began.  "Major Harrington, you and Commander Rabb will have this assignment."

            Rabb took the folder, and began looking over the assignment.  "Problem, here, sir."

            "What is that?" Chegwidden asked.

            "I'm assuming you want Major Harrington to go undercover as the Naval Pilot?"

            "Yes, Commander.  What is the problem?"

            "Major Harrington has a partial paralysis of his right hand.  It would make it impossible to put forth an effective cover piloting."

            Chegwidden paused, then rubbed his temple.  "That's right… I had forgotten about that.  It appears that I'll have to do some swapping of assignments then…"

            Before the Admiral could continue, another person barged in on the briefing.  Clayton Webb bit his lower lip slightly as he stepped inside, and said, "I apologize for being late, Admiral.  Traffic can be a bear around here.  Have you gone over the cases brought in today yet?"

            "I was just getting to it, Webb.  But since you're here, I might as well let you take over."

            "Thank you, Admiral." Webb turned to face the assembled group of officers, and stopped as he spied Harrington standing behind Lt. Singer.  His eyes met with Harrington's, and the Major's mouth turned up in an evil smile.  "All right… as you all might have known, there are two specific assignments that I was given by the Director of the CIA that we need JAG's cooperation with."

            Webb continued to glance every so often in Harrington's direction as he began the briefing.  "The first involves what might be intentional sabotage on board the carrier USS Harry S. Truman.  Normally as a final testing ground for potential Navy aviators, several pilots have been injured, and two killed due to freak mechanical failures.  It's become too commonplace to be considered fluke failures.  One of you will go undercover as a piloting trainee, and get cheeky with the flight staff, while the other serves as a transferring flight instructor."

            "Gee, Webb… I figured getting 'cheeky' was _your_ specialty." Harrington quipped.

            Chegwidden glared at Harrington for the interruption before motioning to Webb to continue with the briefing.  "The other case is a little more delicate.  It involves investigating a mid-air collision in London between a US F-18 Hornet and a RAF Tornado GR4.  Normally, this wouldn't be much of a problem, except that the two planes wound up crashing in nearby Windsor, and killed seven civilians."

            Webb closed his briefcase, and finished, "Two of you will accompany me to London to get to the bottom of this mess, and hopefully not find our boys at fault.  The US Military really doesn't want to get caught with their pants down on this one."

            Once again, Harrington couldn't resist, "Yes, you'd know all about getting caught with your pants down, wouldn't you, Webb?"

            Chegwidden had enough of the wisecracks, and finally demanded, "What is the meaning of your antics today, Major?"

            Harrington grinned mischievously, "Oh, I just had a little run in with Mr. Webb a couple years back, and…"

            "It's classified, Admiral…" Webb interrupted, stepping right in front of the Major.  "_Very_ classified… am I clear, Major?"

            Harrington's grin grew even broader, until Mac was sure that the Air Force officer's jaw was about to dislocate.  "As clear as the sheen off your pasty, white mmmpf."

            Webb silenced Harrington by slapping his hand over the Major's mouth.  Meanwhile, the rest of the assembled officers reigned in all of their professionalism in order to simply maintain straight faces.

            Deciding it safe to withdraw his hand, Webb scowled before concluding, "As I understand, Major Harrington and Commander Rabb will head for the Harry S. Truman, and Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Sturgis will be with me."

            Admiral Chegwidden interrupted with a correction, "Actually, Webb, I had to alter the rotation slightly.  Major Harrington has a disability that would make it impossible for him to go undercover as a pilot.  Thus, I've decided that Commander Sturgis will stay here in Virginia, Lt. Singer will go undercover on the Truman with Commander Rabb, and Major Harrington will accompany you and Colonel MacKenzie in London."

            There were varied protests to that announcement, but the only one that Admiral Chegwidden took note of was from Lt. Singer, and only because it was a rather relevant one.

            "Sir, I've never flown any plane before, much less a Navy fighter jet." Singer stated.

            "You have two weeks before you depart, and you have two very capable pilots in this very office who can help get you acclimated to flying." Chegwidden explained.  "If those two flyboys can't get you ready, then no one can."

            "Ah, once you get used to the feel of flying a fighter, the rest isn't that hard, Lieutenant." Harrington assured her.  "Besides, you'll be spending your time in the air with Commander Rabb, and he can easily cover for any errors you may make on occasion."

            "Well, I'm glad _you're_ confident about all this." Singer commented.

            "I don't know if this is going to work, Admiral." Webb complained.

            "It's the only way we could get this to work, Webb.  If your director wants the help of this department, this is the way it's going to have to be."

            Webb glared, but realized that he was caught.  There was no way that his director would allow these cases to continue without the assistance of the Judge Advocate General.  "Very well.  Just remember, we have a timeframe to follow.  If Lt. Singer isn't ready in two weeks, all bets are off."

            "She'll be ready, Mr. Webb… don't worry about having to return to your director with bad news." Chegwidden answered, and finally Webb left the office, obviously not very happy with the current assignments.  The Admiral addressed his officers simply, "That will be all.  Dismissed."

            The lawyers filtered out of the office one by one, but Chegwidden had one last message for one of them.  "Major Harrington, can I ask one thing of you?"

            Harrington stopped at the doorway, and replied, "Of course, sir."

            Chegwidden smiled.  "It appears that you somehow have gotten under Mr. Webb's skin.  I'd appreciate it if you made sure that you stayed there.  He's been long overdue for some good-natured grief."

            Harrington saluted, and said, "With pleasure, sir."

Appalachian Mountain Region, Virginia- 1540 EST, September 12 

            For the second time today, Harm took "Sarah" for a flight, but this one had more serious purposes than simply showboating.  He had two weeks to get this career naval lawyer comfortable with the cockpit of a plane enough that she would be able to least fool the right people into thinking she was a bona fide navy pilot.

            Of course, he wasn't alone in the teaching, and Harm couldn't help but notice that Lt. Singer frequently turned to her other trainer for advice and encouragement.

            "How am I doing, Major?" Singer asked into her microphone.

            From the ground, Harrington replied, "You look good from here, Lieutenant.  Your speed and altitude look quite stable.  However, Commander Rabb probably has a better perspective… being right behind you anyway."

            Taking his cue, Harm added, "Just tilt the stick slightly to port, Lieutenant, and it'll level out your wings.  Other than that, I have to agree with Major Harrington, you're almost a natural."

            Singer smirked, "Well, that's good to hear.  Maybe I'll get a hang of this quicker than you expected."

            Harm was about to correct her, but Harrington did it for him.  "Let's not get too cocky now.  This is just a mere newborn cub compared to the beasts you're going to have to settle into in two weeks time."

            "Is that so?"

            "Lieutenant, a Tomcat has about 2000 times the power of this little girl.  You've pulled a 4 g dive 10 minutes ago… Tomcats frequently pull 7 or 8, and occasionally 9.  It has a top speed of over Mach 2.  It can turn a full 180 degrees in about the same radius as this plane… going almost 10 times as fast.  Not to mention the HUD and the various computerized systems…"

            "Okay!  Okay!" Singer shouted, "I get the point, sir!"

            From the ground radio, another voice cut in.  "I apologize for the intrusion Lieutenant, Commander, but I _really_ have to borrow Major Harrington now." Mac stated.  "You know, he _does_ have another case that is supposed to be getting the majority of his attention."

            "Sorry…" Harrington apologized, his voice sounding like he was a relative distance from the microphone.

            "It's quite all right, Mac, I think I can take it from here." Harm laughed, "Just don't beat up on the Major like you do all your other partners."

            "I'll try not to, Commander.  We shouldn't have a problem though; Major Harrington isn't half as obnoxious as you.  He's actually got a sound head on his shoulders."

            Harm couldn't help but slide in one little jab.  "Gee, sounds like you're already falling in love with our new friend."

            Mac wasn't fazed, "Maybe I am.  See you two flyboys later." The radio from the ground went silent, and it left Harm to focus on training Lt. Singer.  "Why don't we set down for the day?"

            "Actually, with your permission sir, I'd like to remain up here for another 15 minutes." Singer requested.

            Harm noticed the tension in Singer's voice, and he attributed it to one thing.  With a conspiratorial grin, he stated, "Mac was just being funny, Lieutenant.  She's not going to steal Major Harrington from you…"

            He couldn't see Singer's face from his position, but judging from her surprised yelp, he would have bet even money that she was blushing.  "You've… got it all wrong, sir.  I just…"

            "You just what, Lieutenant?"

            "I… I… need to go over the landing procedures, Commander.  Getting up here was all fine, but going back down makes me nervous."

            Harm nodded.  If she was tense about landing, then he was a jarhead.  "Very well, Lieutenant, let's run through this step by step.  First, check your airspeed… line up straight with the landing strip… ready your flaps…"

**End Episode 7**

* * *


	8. Unfriendly Environments

Author's Note: As I promised, this chapter is a little bit longer than my others… and the plot is starting to shape up just a little more… it won't be nearly as drab from this point on…

2nd Author's Note: Megan, you weren't wrong with your initial review; it was _because_ of your review that I changed Chapter 5's original content.  You made a good point, and helped me think of a better way to progress.  (pointing at reviewers) You see, I DO listen to the feedback, so if you like what you're reading, say so, or even if you think I'm off base, call me on it…

… I just might not always _listen_… ~_^

Episode 8 

**Unfriendly Environments**

****

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1110 EST, September 27 

****

            Singer bit her lower lip as she quickly jerked the joystick to her right, and then pulled harder, invoking a smooth barrel roll on her F-14 simulator.  Harrington watched with an impressed fascination at the almost non-stop effort his office-mate had put into learning the nuances of the Tomcat in a little over two weeks.  By no means was she ready to fly in actual combat, but with Commander Rabb settling in the rear seat, she'd definitely be able to fool the right people into thinking she was.

            Admiral Chegwidden had assuaged Harrington's fears that Loren might be discovered.  "Actually, it might work out better to send Lt. Singer instead of someone else." The Admiral had noted, "She's going to be the only female trainee on the Truman, and thus, she'll have her own quarters in which to do her work without as great of a fear of being discovered."

            However, as the departure date arrived, Harrington's reservations had grown.  If the Navy was anything like the Air Force (and there was really no reason for him to think it wasn't), pilots thought of themselves as a "Good Old Boys Club".  The few women who had become pilots did not last long simply due to the harassment they received on a constant basis.  Knowing Singer's encounters with some more boorish members of the male gender… Harrington wasn't terribly sure that she'd be able to handle it.

            "What is running through that little head of yours, Major?" Singer asked him, and he discovered that she had stopped playing with her simulator just long enough to realize that he had been staring blankly at her.

            Harrington quickly shook his head in dismissal.  "Nothing really, Lieutenant.  Just worried that if someone really is sabotaging fighter jets, that… well…"

            "You said yourself, Commander Rabb is going to be my second the entire time.  I'm quite certain that if something goes wrong, he'll be able to handle it.  I doubt he became a Top Gun pilot for no reason."

            "I suppose your right…" Harrington concluded, although he wasn't terribly convinced.

            A knock on their office door drew their attention, and Colonel MacKenzie stuck her head around the small opening she had created.  "Major, we've got to get going.  We've got a bit of a flight ahead of us."

            Harrington jerked to full attention.  He had totally forgotten that he had a case of his own, one that would likely require his full attention.  "Right, that we do, don't we?" Looking at Singer one last time, he said, "Well, if you have any problems, you know my cel-phone number."

            Singer rolled her eyes, and replied, "Yes, daddy… now will you get onto your business?"

            Harrington smirked, then disappeared out the door after Mac.

            As he followed Mac out of the bullpen, Commander Rabb stopped him just before the door.  "Don't you worry, Major, I'll make sure Lt. Singer returns in one piece."

            Before Harrington could reply, Mac interrupted with a demanding voice, "Major, we have 38 minutes and 17 seconds before our flight is scheduled to leave.  Even with our diplomatic status, it's going to take some time to clear security.  We have to leave _now_!"

_USS Harry S. Truman, off the coast of Ft. Lauderdale, FL- 0911 EST, September 28_

            "Commander Rabb, it's good to see you again." The captain said with a salute.  "I was wondering when that desk job was going to get too boring for you."

            "I'm just back as a part-time instructor, sir." Harm saluted in return, "Other than that, I actually enjoy my current career."

            "At ease, Commander." The Captain grinned, and the pair shared the macho equivalent of a hug, slapping each other's backs so hard that Singer was worried they'd bruise each other's spines.

            "So, this is the trainee you brought with you?" The captain said, motioning to Singer.  "Where's her radar officer?"

            "He… balked out of service a week ago." Harm explained, "I'll be taking over for him until she completes the training courses."

            The Captain finally regarded Singer personally, and a dark expression floated over his face for a brief second before it disappeared behind his disarming expression.  "I am Captain Edward Roget, and for the next two weeks, you're going to be my bitch.  But you've got to be someone special if Commander Rabb's taken notice.  I'm sure you'll do fine."

            Singer had to fight herself from visibly reacting to the comment, but managed to maintain her composure.  "Lt. Marci Morris, sir." She introduced with a salute.  "While it didn't come out as complimentary as you intended, I understand the sentiments, sir."

            Captain Roget laughed again, and said, "Well, follow me, and I'll show you two just where you'll be staying."

            As Singer followed the Captain down the first set of metal steps down to the lower decks of the carrier, she asked Harm, "Commander, just how do you know Captain Roget?"

            "Captain Roget was the deck officer during my training days before I became a full-fledged pilot.  There wasn't a man I trusted more with my jet than Eddy." Harm replied.

            The Captain laughed heartily as he stopped before a steel door that marked an entry to one of the many bunkrooms on the carrier.  "I'm glad you had such a high opinion of me, Commander.  Well, Lieutenant Morris, here is your home sweet home for the next two weeks.  If you'll follow me Commander, I'll show you where you'll be staying…"

            The pair walked further down the hall, leaving Singer.  She took a deep breath, and opened the door into a room of steel and barely padded bunks.  At that moment, she remembered why carrier work had become one of her least favorite assignments.

            "Well, at least I won't waste my time trying to find the Starbucks…" Singer mused to herself as she closed the door, and began to settle in.

_Harrington Hall Hotel, London, England- 1720 GMT, September 28_

            "As far as I am aware, there is no relation." Harrington said, growing increasingly impatient, "Can you just send the room service up please?  Thank you."

            Harrington set the receiver down on it's hook, and pointed to it.  "You can handle the phone duties from now on."

            Mac laughed, and replied, "What's wrong, Major?  Aren't you related to the namesake of this hotel?"

            "Various members of the hotel staff asked me that question seven times now." Harrington huffed, "It's just getting annoying, that's all.  I mean, do they ask _everyone_ with that name that question?"

            Mac sighed, "Take it easy, Steve." She used his first name in the hopes of settling him.  "They're just curious.  No need to get bent out of shape."

            Harrington flopped down in one of the plush chairs situated around the main living area of the suite.  "I suppose you're right…" Silence ensued for about 5 minutes until the food arrived.  Mac immediately dug in, and in between bites, got a bolt of inspiration to improve her partner's mood.

            "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up." Mac said with a conspiratorial grin, "You can tell me the story that Webb obviously doesn't want told."

            Harrington's eyes gleamed, and his mouth turned up mischievously.  "I really shouldn't tell you.  It's not really classified, but he could make my life quite difficult."

            Mac made a motion of zipping her lips.  "I won't tell a soul."

            "Oh, yes you will." Harrington corrected, "Once you hear it, you're gonna tell everyone in the office."

            "So, does that mean you're going to tell me?" Mac asked.  If Harrington had some real dirt on Webb… this was something she'd almost sell her soul for.  The chance to have something on that smirking and often egotistical CIA agent was simply too good for her to let go.

            "Ah, why not?  He'd never make too much noise about it anyway.  He's too embarrassed about it." Harrington resigned.  "It has to do with Mr. Webb, the Seattle mood, and a high-priced prostitute that often frequented one of the ritzier hotels in the city."

            Mac started tapping her left foot in anticipation, having a feeling as to where this story was going, as Harrington continued, "As I understand the story, Webb had just finished a classified assignment in the city of perpetual rain, and decided to celebrate with a member of the oldest active profession in civilization."

            "Oh, he did?" Mac said, a chuckle forming in her throat.

            "Apparently, he handed this young lady $500, and quickly booked a suite in the hotel.  From the testimony of the bellboy that escorted them to his room, Webb had the look of a 5-year-old after a Halloween haul."

            Mac started giggling, but forced herself not to do anything else.

            "Well, the way I see it, Webb has a bit of a thing for discipline.  Once in the room, he dropped trou, escorted his boxers to his knees, bent over the bed, and said, 'Punish me… I've been a naughty boy… punish me good…'"

            Finally, Mac couldn't take it anymore.  She started laughing uncontrollably.  The image of Clayton Webb, bare to the world, begging for a spanking simply was too much.  Eventually, however, the Colonel had to breathe, and once she did, she managed to gasp, "How the hell do you know this?"

            "I'm not done, and was getting to that." Harrington explained.  "As it turns out, the young escort girl in question was an undercover cop…"

            "Nooooo…" Mac moaned, fighting off another fit of laughter as valiantly as she could.

            Harrington finished, "Now, the CIA didn't want to trust this case in the hands of a civilian attorney, so guess who they called to pull Webb's bare behind out of the fire?"

            Once again, Mac busted up, holding her sides as they started to hurt.  Harrington waited patiently as she tried to find her own sanity.  He honestly didn't think the story to be _that_ funny… but obviously Mac did.

            "Are you totally serious?" Mac eventually gasped.

            "Everything I told you comes from the reports that were given to me of the incident." Harrington vowed.

            "Oh, you're right… this is _too_ good…" Mac said, panting for breath, "If you knew just how much trouble Webb has gotten everyone at JAG into whenever he walks into the bullpen… you'd understand just how good this is."

            Fortunately, she was back to normal by the time the door knocked.  Without waiting for a reply, Webb strode in purposefully, his eyes full of business.  "All right, good to see you made it here.  We've already wasted almost a day while I got everything in order, so let's get to work."

            Mac looked down at her plate, then at the remaining dishes that were still on the tray that room service had brought.  Webb caught this, "We'll have plenty of time to eat later tonight.  I want to get to the airfield and ask the commanding officer some questions."

            Mac conceded a little too quickly for Webb's liking.  She was up to something, something that she confirmed as she stood, and said with an evil grin,  "Come on, Major.  We better do what Webb says.  After all, we would want him to… punish us good…"

            Webb's features went flat in terror.  There was only one place that she could have learned that from… and that certain leak was going to get his due… sometime.  However, that wasn't going to save him from what was going to be a long investigation.

            Mac and Harrington stepped by Webb; the agent looked up at the ceiling, and moaned, "This is a nightmare, that's all.  Just some sick nightmare…"

_Harry S. Truman- 1300 EST_

            Singer took her tray from the cafeteria line, and wove her way through the assembled pilots and carrier staff.  Spotting Harm in the far corner, away from most of the commotion, she made a beeline to his table.

"I'm surprised to see you here, sir." Singer commented, "I mean, without being attached to Captain Roget's hip."  She sat down swiftly, glaring at Harm as she took her first bites.

Harm sighed, "We were just catching up, Lieutenant.  It's been a long time since we've seen each other."

Singer's voice quieted, but the disapproval was still clearly evident.  "Well, I hope that while you were 'catching up', that you didn't forget that we are on an investigation here, and until we can start eliminating possibilities, everyone is a suspect, including your friend, the captain."

Harm frowned to himself.  The old Lt. Singer was shining through yet again, so much so that Harm was amazed to so clearly notice the difference.  Once she had left Harrington's aura of influence, it was as if she had fashioned the same walls that she had possessed before.

"You know… I wonder if you treat Major Harrington this way." He finally mused, just loud enough for Singer to hear.

Singer grunted and she replied offhandedly, "I trust Major Harrington to not let personal feelings affect his judgment."

Harm's eyes narrowed, "Actually, you could have stopped after four words, Lieutenant.  You trust Harrington… and you don't trust the rest of us, do you?"

Before Singer could reply, Harm's attention was drawn to a couple of Navy officers who had walked up behind Singer.  The one on the left muttered, "So, this is the new trainee huh?  Looks like we have another cunt who thinks she has balls."

Expecting Singer to shoot back with one of her famous scathing comments, he was somewhat surprised to see her biting her lower lip, looking increasingly depressed.  Realizing that she was not going to defend herself, Harm stated, "Those comments are uncalled for… Ensign." He added, noticing the lack of pins on his uniform.

The pilot snorted.  "Rank means nothing in the air, Commander.  If the little girl wants to get into the same sky as me, I'll rape her like she's a cheap bitch from the shore."

Harm was sure that would have done it, and at first it seemed like he would be right.  Singer shot to her feet, but rather than cut loose on the boorish trainee, she bolted out of the mess hall.

It took Harm a moment to realize what had happened.  Standing up, he thrust his chest slightly to draw attention to the impressive collections of medals and ribbons he possessed.  "I won't report this to the Captain this time, Ensigns, but I'll let you know that Lt. Morris and I will eat you alive in the combat simulation tomorrow."

Three minutes later, Harm stood outside the door to Lt. Singer's bunk, debating whether or not he should go in.  His mind was made up when he heard the sound of light sobs coming from the inside.  Despite any reservations he might have had interrupting her, Harm knocked on the metal door lightly.

"Who is it?" Singer asked, her voice admirably void of the sorrow that he had just heard.  She was obviously very good at hiding how she really felt.

"It's Commander Rabb.  We need to talk, Lieutenant."

Singer didn't immediately reply, but did finally agree.  "Just one moment, Commander."  About two minutes later, Singer opened the door, and Harm marveled at how well she had covered up the fact that she had been crying earlier.

"Can I come in?" Harm asked.

"I rather you didn't." Singer declined.

"Well… we need to have a talk, and I don't think you'd like us discussing it in such a public area."

"We have nothing to talk about, Commander."

"Lieutenant, I have never seen you back down from anyone, much less some cocky pilot in training.  Something he said got to you, and I want to know what it was so that I can prevent future occurrences.

"It's nice to know you're worried about my welfare, Commander, but let me assure you that I won't allow myself to give in to my emotions again."

"This has nothing to do with your welfare, Lieutenant." Harm snapped, "You've shown a moment's weakness in the mess hall, and now your fellow pilots smell blood in the water, and are going to intentionally go after you as much as they can, and potentially blow your cover."

Singer jolted.  Challenging her professionalism obviously was a key to getting her to see reason. "Very well… come in…"

As Harm complied, he shut the door, sensing that whatever was bothering Lt. Singer, she probably didn't want aired to any passer-bys.  He waited patiently while Singer gathered her wits to explain herself.

"It's rather stupid that I still let it bother me, Commander." Singer began, "It happened a long time ago, and I should be able to just let it go."

"Well, it might help if I knew what this thing was." Harm replied, "As it is, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Singer shook her head, "I… don't know…"

It took Harm a moment to realize what was going on, the same thing the two had been discussing in mess hall before they had been interrupted.  "This is about the trust issue, isn't it?  You don't trust me."

"Well, can you blame me?" Singer replied, "Do you think I don't hear the whispers behind my back… or how glad you all were when I left for the Seahawk?"

Harm smirked, "Well… you didn't exactly make yourself likeable, you know that?  You are always so competitive and made it hard to work with you."

"This is a competition, sir." Singer replied, "We're all out for the same thing, aren't we?  To be the JAG, the one in charge?"

Harm frowned, "That's where you're wrong, Lieutenant.  We're supposed to be a team.  Sure… being the top dog is a bit of motivation, but I certainly wouldn't be hurt to see Colonel MacKenzie or Commander Turner win out.  What's best for the team is what's best for me."

Harm sighed, "I'm not out to ruin you… because, well… you're an asset to the group even with the way you act at times.  To ruin your career would hinder mine.  I want to help you complete your mission… just as I would expect you to help me complete mine."

"And since we have the same mission, that means you need full disclosure with each other, right Commander?" Singer asked wryly.

Harm shook his head, "Merely the pertinent details to your breakdown in the mess hall is fine, Lieutenant.  I'm not out for an autobiography."

"Well, if that's all you want…" Singer said, "It has to do with an event when I was attending Dartmouth.  I had met a young man there by the name of Henry Crenshaw.  He had bothered me for a date for a couple months until finally I agreed to attend one of the school dances with him."

Singer took a deep breath.  "I listened to some fellow classmates as to what to do, and on the night of the dance, he took me to a hotel outside of campus.  That's when… well… he…" Tears had started to form in his eyes.  "I told him no… then he ridiculed me, and did it anyway…"

Harm held up his hand, "That's enough, Lieutenant, I think I get the picture."

Singer didn't appear to listen, "Those pilots in the mess hall talked to me just like my date did… they talked about raping me… and I just lost it.  I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help it."

Harm smiled, "It's all right, Lieutenant.  I didn't know that was what happened… Hell, I'm amazed you kept as composed as you did.  The men who pilot aren't always tactful, and they can get mean."

"I'm going to tell you a little secret about navy pilots, Lieutenant." Harm said, "We're a lot of talk.  We can get real competitive, but when push comes to shove, we aren't as nasty as we make ourselves out to be."

"Are you included in that generalization, Commander?" Singer asked, her mood gradually improving.

"At times I can be." Harm admitted, "You might have noticed my tendency to try and command a negotiation or trial.  I just don't like not being in control, and that's all that the exchange in the mess hall was, a power play.  No one on this carrier would dare risk ruining their career by really doing anything to you."

Singer's face grew grim.  "That's where you're wrong, Commander.  Aren't we here in the first place because someone is harming the pilots?"

"You might have a point there… but we'll see once we get to the bottom of this, won't we?  I still think something isn't quite adding up in this scenario…"

_U.S. Embassy, London- 2016 GMT_

            "Well… that was a waste of time." Mac huffed as they left the U.S. Embassy.  "How are we supposed to figure out what happened if the Air Force won't release the flight data they had gathered?"

            Webb stated, "We already have flight data from the RAF Headquarters Strike Command.  We didn't need the one from the Air Force."

            Harrington didn't buy it.  "I find it curious that the Air Force labeled the flight data as top secret pending investigation.  As I recall, we're the one's investigating."

            Webb shook his head, "We have flight data, and we'll get to interview some of the spotters that were tracking the two planes.  What more will we need to reach a conclusion?"

            Harrington stopped, "All right, Webb… that is the _third_ time since we've got here that you've said that; that we're here to reach 'a conclusion', and not the truth."

            "Is there a difference, Major?"

            "With you, Webb… there is a _significant_ difference." Mac cut in.  She too was getting increasingly suspicious of Webb's actions.

            "Let me make something clear to both of you.  We are here to find out what happened… that's it.  If you don't like the way I'm running the show, you can go right back to Washington." Webb explained acidly.

            "Oh sure, I could do that… and then watch you make a farce of what is supposed to be a serious investigation." Mac replied.  "I'm staying just to make sure you conveniently don't sweep any facts under the rug."

            While Mac and Webb were arguing, neither of them immediately noticed Harrington tense, and his eyes fixing on someone or something across the street.  It wasn't until he suddenly broke out into a full sprint onto the congested roadway that Mac reacted.

            "Major!  What the hell…!" Mac shouted, and leaving Webb, she took off after her partner.  Even after nearly getting hit twice, he didn't react to the traffic other than a pair of angry glares.  By the time Mac reached the other side of the roadway, Harrington was turning into an alley between two buildings.

            Apparently, Harrington had some form of track and field expertise, because by the time Mac reached the alley, he was already turning left around the other side.  Trying as hard as she could to pursue, she was lucky that he stopped on the sidewalk just outside the alley, hands on his knees, glaring pure hate at one of London's famous double-decker buses as it drove down the street.

            Mac grabbed him by the shoulder, and he didn't react, suggesting that he had been aware she was following him.  "What in heaven's name has come over you, Major?" She demanded.

            Harrington straightened, and shrugged her hand away.  "With all due respect, it is none of your concern, ma'am."

            Mac scowled, and once again grabbed Harrington's shoulder, turning him roughly to face her.  "Excuse me?  My case partner just suddenly nearly got himself _killed _running through London traffic, chasing after God knows what.  You better _believe_ it concerns me!"

            Harrington looked back down the street, where the bus he had been staring at had just turned a corner, disappearing behind the London architecture.  "You could say that I thought a saw a spook, Colonel…"

_Harry S. Truman- 0750 EST, September 29_

            Singer pulled the harness tight around her body, making sure that nothing was wrong with the restraints.  One missed flaw could mean death, especially in a situation in which there was likely a saboteur floating about.

            "All right, Lieutenant, just follow my commands, and you'll do more than well enough to silence your fellow trainees for the rest of the course." Harm replied over their closed-circuit connection.

            "We're here to find a saboteur… not to be a Top Gun, Commander." Singer chastised.  Commander Rabb was having way too much fun with this.

            "That's true, Lieutenant… but it doesn't hurt to try and win it all, does it?"

            Commander Rabb was learning to appeal to her competitive nature, Singer realized.  "Perhaps not, sir.  I guess it wouldn't hurt to roast a few turkeys."

            "You're sounding like a fighter pilot already, Lieutenant.  Maybe you're in the wrong career field." Harm joked.

            "Forget it… JAG HQ already has enough cocky, arrogant pilots running around."

            "There's only two."

            "Yes, and that's two too many." Singer quipped.

            Harm laughed, and replied, "I'm going to tell Major Harrington you said that."

            "He knows better than to disagree with me."

            Harm shook his head, "Just get ready to fly, Lieutenant." He paused the connection, and marveled at the difference in Lt. Singer since their discussion.  Perhaps she'll be a little more open with her co-workers now.  It certainly wouldn't hurt to improve the trust in the office.

            Lt. Singer got the clearance for takeoff, and Harm prepared to guide her through the process.  However, she seemed to remember most of the procedure.  The only thing Harm had to remind her off was to retract the landing gear.

            Sure enough, as Harm had warned, the other trainees began to zero in on her like she was a tuna in the middle of a shark pond.  "Here we go, Lieutenant…" Harm began, "Bank starboard 45 degrees for 3 seconds, then pull a 5 g climb until we hit 17000 feet."

            By the time Singer had complied, Harm had the next series of commands for her.  "Alright, make a port roll, and then dip 2000 feet.  After that, switch on your targeting HUD."

            Once again, Singer flawlessly executed the commands, "All right, our friend is probably going to try to scissors starboard.  The way to beat that is to bank starboard, then accelerate as you are climbing.  You'll get a perfect shot."

            Harm's calculations were right on the money.  The opposing Tomcat she was tailing seemed to hover right in front of her HUD, allowing her to press off several phantom rounds into its fuselage.

            "Score one splash for Lt. Morris." The Captain's voice came over the radio.  "Well, done, Lieutenant, but we've got a ways to go yet."

            "Okay, Lieutenant, let's try and push the envelope here." Harm challenged, "Let's make a 6 g climb up to 40000 feet, and see who's willing to follow the leader."

            Singer felt her blood rush as she accepted Harm's challenge, but whether that was because of the high g pull, or just the thrill of flight, she wasn't sure.  Regardless, she began to understand just what Commander Rabb and Steve saw in all this…

            Suddenly, as she hit about 35000 feet, there was a pop from behind her, and an alert started ringing through the cockpit.  Before she could look at her alarm panel, she noticed the edges of her vision blurring.

            Her instinct kicked in, remembering something Commander Rabb and Major Harrington had warned her about.  Recalling in a split second the nature of blackout, she slowly dropped the Tomcat down into lower air stream.

            Once she had dropped back down to under 10000 feet, she realized that Commander Rabb hadn't said anything.  "Commander… Are you all right?  _Commander_?"

_London- 1302 GMT_

            "The Tornado was at a lower altitude, and then suddenly pulled up like it was going to buzz the Hornet." The airfield spotter stated, "However, either the Tornado misjudged the Hornet's position, or the Hornet turned into the Tornado's flight path, because they collided in a ball of flame."

            Webb nodded, "So, the Tornado flew up into the Hornet.  Okay, that's all we needed to know." He started packing up his articles in a bit of a hurry.

            "Wait a second…" Harrington replied.  "Don't you think the Tornado pilot would have seen the Hornet?"

            "Conditions were cloudy, Major." Webb countered.  "The pilot might not have seen the Hornet."

            "Then the Hornet would have least shown up on radar." Harrington answered, "Not even a novice pilot would miss a blip like a Hornet on the radar screen."

            "Listen, we looked at the flight data.  The Hornet didn't pull into the Tornado's flight path.  The Brit was trying to be cocky, and it cost him, and several civilians as well." Webb argued, but years of encountering Webb keyed Mac onto the suspicion that he was not being totally honest with them.

            "Mr. Webb… I do not appreciate how quickly you are rushing to judgment throughout this entire investigation." Mac replied tersely.  "While you may think that you are done with this, let me assure you that the Major and I are not."

            Once again, Webb and Mac began to "discuss" their different opinions, and once again, something drew Harrington's attention.  This time, however, it was a vibrating sensation in his left breast pocket, indicating he was receiving a call on his cel-phone.

            Pulling open the phone, he put it up to his ear, "Major Steve Harrington… Lieutenant?  What's… okay… slow down… whoa… take a couple deep breaths and tell me what happened…"

            The argument was forgotten as Webb and Mac focused on the conversation.  "The cockpit _what_?"  Harrington stood up and excused himself from the table.  "Oh hell… all right… explain to me what happened step by step…"

            Mac turned to their interview subject and said, "You're free to go… but I'll call you later with further questions."  From there, she turned with concern to the phone conversation.  In the back of her mind, a tingle shot down her spine.  Something had happened to Harm…

            Mac waited with baited breath as Harrington's expression dropped further and further.  He rubbed his temple with his right hand, and said, "Sweet Jesus… no, Loren… ironically you did the right thing.  Normally, dropping swiftly in that condition is precisely the _wrong_ thing to do, but by lowering your altitude, you balanced the cabin pressure, and just maybe…" His voice drifted off as he noticed Mac looking at him intently.  "Listen, call me back when you learn more, okay?  All right… see ya."

            Harrington closed his cel-phone just in time for Mac to demand, "What happened to Commander Rabb?"

            "How do you know something happened to Commander Rabb?" Harrington played dumb.

            "I just know…" Mac glared, "Now spill it."

            Harrington sighed, and began nervously, "Lieutenant Singer and Commander Rabb underwent their first dogfight simulation earlier today.  From what I was able to glean, as they were making a climb, one of the seals near the rear of the cockpit disintegrated, and the air pressure in the cockpit dropped rapidly.  Commander Rabb apparently fell victim to redout, and lost consciousness."

            "Redout?" Mac asked.  She had heard Harm speak of a blackout on occasion, but never a redout.

            "It's basically a blackout in reverse, normally caused by excess negative g's, usually during a prolonged and steep dive, however, a sudden loss of cabin pressure from above can do the same thing, like in this case.  During a redout, too much blood flows to the brain, rather than too little.  They are considerably more rare than blackouts… but also considerably more dangerous."

            "How so?" Mac asked.

            Harrington obviously didn't want to continue, but decided that it was better to be honest now rather than have her find out later.  "In cases of extreme redout… the blood vessels in the brain can burst… causing brain damage.  It's… it's… often fatal… ma'am…"

            Mac's expression didn't change, but Harrington was certain he could _hear_ the Colonel's heart drop into her stomach.  "Listen, I don't have nearly all the facts." He quickly added in the intent of not totally crushing his partner's hopes. "The fact that Singer was able to remain conscious suggests that the cabin pressure didn't drop terribly fast… Harm could have just zonked out."

            "Be honest with me, Major." Mac snapped.  "What do you think?"

            Harrington shrugged, "As I said, I don't have all the facts.  I'd say it's 50/50 right now.  We'll just have to wait and see."

_JAG Headquarters- 915 EST_

            Admiral Chegwidden was obviously upset, judging from the way he was drumming his fingers on his desk.  "Commander Turner, Lt. Roberts, you two will depart for the Truman immediately."

            "Sir, what about Lt. Singer's undercover mission?"

            "To hell with Lt. Singer's cover." Chegwidden snapped, "We tried to play it Webb's way, and one of my officers nearly got killed.  Now we're going to do it _my_ way.  The two of you will meet up with Singer, and Colonel MacKenzie will join you soon after.  I want you all to find whoever did this by any means necessary."

            "If Colonel MacKenzie is joining us on the Truman, who will be working with Major Harrington on the London case?" Sturgis asked.

            "Major Harrington has assured me that he can handle the London case solo, and if he needs any help he'll call.  Besides, it is doubtful that Colonel MacKenzie would be of much use over there… considering the recent events…"

            "How is Commander Rabb at the moment, sir?" Bud asked.  "I take it he is still alive?"

            The Admiral nodded in relief.  "Although I'm not sure how… that flyboy's luck, not to mention quick thinking on Lt. Singer's part, kept him alive.  Had she not done what she did… it's likely that we'd have one dead lawyer to bury."

            "I can't believe that I'm actually ready to thank Lt. Singer for something." Bud commented.

            "The best way you can thank her is by making sure that no other pilot needs a miraculous save." The Admiral ordered.  "The clock is ticking gentlemen."

            "Aye, aye, sir!" The pair saluted, and set right onto their task.

_London- 1830 GMT_

            "So, Colonel MacKenzie's on her flight to Ft. Lauderdale, huh?" Webb asked.

            "Indeed she is." Harrington answered, not even looking at the CIA agent, packing files into his briefcase, and slipping a black billfold into his right pants pocket.

            "So… who's coming in to replace her?"

            "No one.  I told the Admiral I could handle this on my own."

            Webb smirked, "Ah… now you can run the investigation your way, I take it."

            Finally, Harrington turned to face his co-investigator.  "That's right."

            "So… what are you planning on doing that you couldn't do with Colonel MacKenzie around?"

            Without speaking, Harrington strode right up to Webb, and punched him in the face.  Webb crumpled to the floor, and the Air Force officer looked down disgustedly at Webb's blank expression.  One punch had knocked him out.

            "First of all, I'm getting you out of the way." Harrington muttered, "Then I'm going to find out the truth without you interfering."  With that, Harrington closed and locked his suite door, and left the hotel.

_U.S. Embassy, London- 1855 GMT_

            "Major, I've already told you, the flight data on the F-18 involved in the crash is top secret.  I cannot release it to you." Colonel Travis said with a sigh.  "JAG doesn't have that sort of authority."

            Harrington didn't reply.  Instead, he pulled out the small black billfold from his uniform pants pocket, and slid it across the table.  The Colonel opened it, and his eyes looked back up to the Major.

            "You aren't serious." Travis drawled.

            "Don't make me issue a search and seizure directive, Colonel."

            Colonel Travis jumped to his feet.  "You have no authority to make such an order!"

            Harrington followed, his eyes narrow and cold.  "I've been granted whatever means necessary to find out exactly what happened here.  You can call my superior if you wish.  I can wait."

            Colonel Travis replied angrily, "You bet I will."

            Twenty minutes later, a very displeased Colonel Travis returned, with a black disc in his hand.  "Well, you got what you wanted, on one condition.  You are not allowed under any circumstances to share the information on this disk to the general public."

            "I hadn't planned to anyway." Harrington answered, "I'm just here to find out exactly what happened."  With a flat expression, he snatched the disk from the Colonel's hand, and said, "Thank you for your cooperation."

_Harrington Hall Hotel- 1905 GMT_

            Harrington returned to find an extremely pissed off Clayton Webb sitting in one of the chairs in the suite, holding a makeshift ice pack to his left cheek.  "You know, Mr. Harrington, you really are not a nice man to be around when there isn't a lady present." He mumbled.

            "No, I'm not a nice man to be around when people railroad me into a sham of an investigation." Harrington retorted.  "But that is going to change in a hurry." The Major held up the disk he had acquired from Colonel Travis.  "I wonder what is on here that is so top secret.  I get the feeling you already know, don't you, Webb?"

            "I'm not going to ruin your fun of finding out all on your own." Webb sneered, grimacing from the pain soon after.  "I mean; you're so proud of being able to put on big boy pants now… don't want to rain on your parade."

            With a grunt, Harrington plopped down at the desk, and opened his laptop.  At the same time, he picked up his cel-phone, and dialed up an old friend.  "Hello, Ronnie… it's me again… I've got a couple things I'd like you to compare.  It's flight data from a couple of planes that collided in London.  I need you to analyze them, and see if you can't find any discrepancies… I know, they _should_ plot out the same, but something tells me that they _won't_.  I'm transferring the data in question to your network now… should be complete in about 20 minutes.  Just call me back when you find something."

            An hour passed in almost complete silence, as the occupants in the suite were not in much mood to talk to each other.  Other than a visit by room service per Harrington's request, not a word was uttered.

            Finally, Harrington's cel-phone broke the silence.  "Hello, Ronnie… found something?"  He whirled around to the desk, and posed himself over his laptop.  "Yeah, I'm right at my computer.  What did you find?"

            The image that Ronnie Chapel sent him was not nearly as large as the flight data he had sent her.  Opening the animated file, he discovered it to be two radar images, transcribed over each other.

            "So… these are radar screens from the U.S. radar, as well as one from the RAF, huh?  So, what am I…?" Harrington's voice dropped off as he found what Ronnie had discovered on his own.  "Now how is this possible?" He quickly surmised that there was one person that could he could get an answer for that question from.

            "Mr. Webb, perhaps you can explain to me something…" Harrington began.

            Webb merely glared, then checked the ice pack he had made to see how much solid ice was left.

            "I'm just curious how on the USAF radar screen, it shows the two aircraft on a disastrous mid-air collision course… and yet, on the RAF radar screen, it shows the two aircraft missing each other by about 200 meters… that is until they both disappear off the radar completely."

            Harrington turned to Webb and replied, "I'm a patient person, Webb.  And you aren't leaving here until I get an answer."

            In resignation, Webb finally told what he knew.  "Military Technology had developed a new electronic countermeasures unit for military fighters, and this Hornet was equipped with one of the first prototypes.  The new ECM works by sending out a modified radar frequency that displaces the plane's position on the radar screen."

            "This displacement wouldn't happen to be about 200 meters, would it?"

            "The displacement is variable, but yes, 200 meters is well within its parameters."

            "And why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

            Webb groaned in frustration, "It's called 'top secret information', Mr. Harrington.  Contrary to what some people may think, the military and government don't tell the world everything they have."  He once again checked his ice pack, and said disparagingly, "Am I free to go now?"

            "You can do whatever you want, Webb." Harrington shrugged, "I have a report to write up, and won't have time to baby-sit you."

            Webb smirked knowingly, and interjected, "Don't you mean, _two_ reports to write up?"

            Harrington scowled, and replied testily, "Whatever you say…"

_USS Harry S. Truman- 1125 EST, September 30_

            Mac had not slept well on the flight to Ft. Lauderdale, and it showed from the fact that she nearly fell asleep in her chair for the third time.  Reaching for her coffee mug again, she took another deep swig, feeling the now lukewarm liquid slide down her throat.

            Singer stepped inside the sickbay, and touched Mac on the shoulder, "Colonel, you should get some sleep.  You look ready to collapse, ma'am."

            "I'm fine, Lieutenant.  Once this coffee gets into my system, I'll be my old self." Mac replied.

            Singer didn't appear to agree, but she wasn't going to argue with a superior officer.  With an indifferent shrug, she left the sick bay, once again leaving Colonel MacKenzie alone with the unconscious Commander Rabb.

            Mac had been assured that Harm was alive, but simply by looking at him, she wouldn't have believed it.  She could still see pieces of clotted blood around his eyes and ears, but they had cleaned his nose rather well, likely so they could insert the oxygen tubes.  His eyes were half open, but from inside the eyelids, there was just a blank and lifeless stare.

            The Marine Colonel put her hand on Harm's that rested motionlessly at his side.  It felt cold, but she could feel a slight heat in the palm, confirming what she had been told.  "Well, Commander… here we are again." She muttered, not even sure if he was able to hear her.  "How many more times are you going to scare the life out of me by climbing into a cockpit?"

            Fighting back a swell of emotion, she continued softly, "Every time you fly now, even in "Sarah", I worry that I'll never be able to see you again, and tell you what I truly feel.  Why do you do this to me?"

            "Why can't I just say what I want?" Mac continued, "Because I know how important your career is to you, and how important mine is to me.  To say everything I'd want to say… something would have to give."

            Finally, fatigue and emotion began to overwhelm Mac, and she settled her head down on an exposed portion of Harm's bedding, forgetting to move her hand away from his.  As she slowly fell asleep, she muttered, "Harm… what am I going to do with you?"

            Meanwhile, outside, Singer waited for any news from her fellow JAG officers involving their investigation.  The overly emotional one-sided exchange was one that Singer would have normally found ridiculous… had she not understood just how Colonel MacKenzie felt.

            Somewhat embarrassed to recall the memory, it came unbidden instead.  She recalled how helpless she had felt… watching the test flight unfold.  She had seen the engine start to sputter out.  It happened to fast for her to see the actual accident, but as Harrington descended to the earth… she could tell that something was wrong.  She had waited by her friend's bedside for hours while he slowly regained consciousness, and then was blown away at first when Harrington didn't realize that Singer was holding his right hand.

            "Pilots should be required not to have any loved ones." Singer muttered to herself.

            "Did you say something ma'am?" A voice just off to her right asked.

            Singer nearly jumped, and replied, "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't see you there, seaman.  I was just thinking out loud, that's all."

            "I'm Seaman Donald Hines, and just wanted to tell you something.  But if you're busy, I won't interrupt you, ma'am." He tipped his sailor's cap, and began to walk away.

            "Seaman Hines, if you have something to say, tell me." Singer said in resignation.

            The seaman suddenly looked flustered, and eventually stammered, "My CO will have my head if he finds out I told you this… but I overheard the Captain complaining to his first mate that he didn't like some 'part-time flyboy, part-time snitch' running around unsupervised on his flight deck."

            He started to stride away nervously again, but not before adding, "I don't want to implicate anyone, especially my CO… but I just found the comment interesting."

            Singer nodded, "You did the right thing by coming forward, Seaman.  I thank you."

            "You're welcome, ma'am."

_1140 EST_

            "Things are awfully hush-hush on this carrier, Sir." Bud commented.

            "You should know by now that the crew doesn't like ratting out their own, Lieutenant." Sturgis replied, "They cover for each other most of the year, and it's a hard habit to break."

            "I understand, sir… but I also understand why Webb wanted to do this undercover.  Trying it the overt way is like pulling teeth."

            Their conversation was broken when a seaman stepped into their line of vision.  Biting his lower lip, he glanced around the flight deck nervously before stating, "Listen, I don't want to get in trouble with the guys, but I just wanted to let you know that one of the trainee fighter teams, led by Ensign Mark Stanton, got into an altercation with Commander Rabb in the mess hall the day before the accident."

            "Can you confirm this?" Sturgis asked.

            "There were a lot of people in the mess hall, sir… I can't imagine anyone missing it.  The two made quite a bit of noise."

            "Thank you, seaman for the information." Sturgis acknowledged, "Can I have your name?"

            "Seaman Chance O'Reilly." The man replied, glancing around the flight deck once more.  "Umm… I need to return to my post, sir."

            "Dismissed, seaman." Sturgis stated.  After watching the crewman walk away down the flight deck, he added, "Like pulling teeth, huh, Lieutenant?"

_London- 1711 GMT_

            Harrington had finally finished packing up his suitcase, and was prepared to shutdown his laptop when he suddenly received an e-mail.  Expecting it to be an update from Lt. Singer, he was a bit surprised when the content of the message was a series of times and places.  Upon further inspection, he realized that the list was of data transfers between the U.S. Embassy in London… and the USS Harry S. Truman.

            Harrington flipped open his cel-phone, and dialed up an all-too familiar number.  "Hi, Ronnie… it's Steve… I got _one_ more favor to ask you.  I'm sending you a list of data transfer records.  I need you to see if you can hack into the server, and find out just what was sent…  Thanks, Ronnie, I'll owe you big time."

            Harrington disconnected, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't quite ready to leave London yet…

_USS Harry S. Truman- 1312 EST_

            "I'm telling you, Captain Roget is a prime suspect here." Singer reiterated, "He was the only one who knew that Commander Rabb was a JAG officer until after the accident, and according to one of the seamen on board, the Captain didn't like the idea of a JAG."

            "Captain Roget and Commander Rabb have known each other for a while.  Besides, why would the captain be sabotaging the fighters in the first place?" Sturgis disagreed.  "Ensign Stanton and Edmonds not only have the motive, that being maintaining their status as Top Gun, but also had an altercation with the Commander the day before the flight, according to members of the crew."

            Singer shook her head, "The Ensigns were the ones who guided my plane back down the carrier after the accident, and they were deeply scared of what had happened.  I can tell an acting job when I see one."

            "Still no luck in the investigation, I see." Mac cut in, taking a set next to Lt. Roberts, who was keeping mum while Lt. Singer and Commander Turner argued it out.

            "We think we've narrowed it down to potentially three people, two of them a pilot team, and Captain Roget.  Neither case is particularly solid at the moment." Bud explained, "How is Commander Rabb?"

            Mac sighed, "Well… he's slipping in and out of consciousness, waking for a few minutes at a time.  Apparently that's a good sign, but we won't know if he suffered any brain damage until he's more stable."

            "Well… be thankful he's still alive, Colonel." Bud replied, "As long as there is life, there's some hope." Bud patted his prosthetic leg, using himself as living proof of his statement.

            Meanwhile, Lt. Singer heard the telltale ring of her cel-phone.  Curious as to who would be calling her at the moment, she opened the small device, and placed it to her ear.  "Hello?  Oh, hello, Major, what can I do for you?"

            A moment's silence from Singer was followed with, "Yeah… Colonel MacKenzie is right here… sure…" She motioned for Mac to take the phone, and said, "It's Major Harrington… says he's stumbled across something big."

            Mac took Singer's cel-phone.  "Hello, Major.  What trouble did you… are you _serious_?  What did he… and you said it was being transferred _here_?"  Hang on, Major… call us back in about 5 minutes.  I want to set this up somewhere private…"

_1320 EST_

            Singer connected a speaker jack to the port on the bottom of her cel-phone just as it rang again.  Accepting the call, Singer said, "All right, Major… what have you got?"

            From over the speaker, Harrington's voice filtered through the bunk room Singer had been staying in.  "I was able to confirm that the fighter collision in London was due to the testing of a new ECM unit that the USAF has been testing.  However, it turns out that the commanding officer of the airfield, Colonel Richard Travis, has been sending data on this new device in small packets to the Truman."

            "To here?" Singer asked, "Why?"

            "I suspect that the sabotaging of the fighters was a cover for this espionage.  With all the commotion surrounding the accidents…"

            "People would be less likely to notice these small packets being transmitted to the accomplices on the Truman." Mac finished, "Do you know where this information is going from here?"

            "No, but not that it really matters.  All that we need to do is make sure this stops happening.  I need you to help figure out who is helping Colonel Travis on your end."

            Singer and Sturgis looked at each other, a bolt of inspiration striking them both at the same time.  "Actually, Major, we might already have an idea as to who it could be." Sturgis replied, "It's a matter of getting them out in the open."

            Singer smirked, "And I think I know how we can do that.  Major, do you happen to have any contacts in the broadcasting field?" 

_1800 EST_

            Crewmen O'Reilly and Hines normally didn't watch the news, but when Captain Roget turned on the mess hall TV, the headline quickly jumped out at them.

            "United States Air Force Colonel Richard Travis was placed under arrest today for attempted espionage of military secrets.  According to investigators, Colonel Travis was sending top-secret documents via e-mail to an undisclosed location.  Investigators are working to discover the receivers of these documents, and more information is forthcoming.  This is Lynn Tucker, ZNN News."

            Looking at each other, the unspoken message between them was clear.  They left the mess hall separately and separated a couple minutes apart, to deflect any suspicions.  Taking care to make sure they weren't being followed, they returned to their bunkroom.  Quickly collecting the information they had compiled, as well as all they would need to change their identities once they reached shore, the pair prepared to leave the Truman.

            However, as they opened the door to the hall, the JAG officers were right on the other side, accompanied by a squad of MP's dressed for a fight.

            "Sirs, would you care to accompany us to the brig?" Sturgis said with a smirk.  "I think there are a few things we need to discuss."

**End Episode 8**

* * *


	9. PostGame Celebration

Author's Note: Just in case…

Episode 9 Post-Game Celebration _JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0935 EST, October 2_

Admiral Chegwidden didn't normally make such a show of promotions… but this was one that he felt deserved a bit of fanfare.  Had it been two months ago, he would never have dreamed of this… but now, it seemed like the perfect thing to do

"For your actions on board the USS Harry S. Truman, I, on behalf of the United States Navy, and with the regards of the Secretary of the Navy, grant you, Loren Singer, with the rank of Lieutenant Commander.  Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir." Singer beamed as Admiral Chegwidden affixed the pins of her new standing on her uniform.  From behind her, there was polite clapping, and one certain young Major who was bordering on going overboard.

Singer turned to face her co-workers, uncertainty and pride dueling among her emotions.  They all looked so happy for her… maybe Commander Rabb was right… maybe this wasn't a competition… perhaps whenever one of them succeeded, they all succeeded…

"I'll admit; you and I have never been the best of friends." Sturgis began, "But you deserved this."

Singer smirked.  "If I hadn't deserved this promotion for a long time, I doubt I would have accepted it.  The only actions on the Truman I performed outside of anyone else were simply blind luck."

"Lt. Commander Singer, are you being modest?  What is the world coming to?" Mac quipped.

"Sometimes you have to be lucky to be good, Lieutenant… Commander." Harm hastily added.  "I never got a chance to thank you.  From what I've been told, I owe you my life."

"Well, I'm glad that you recovered fully." Normally confident and superior, the attention was starting to embarrass her.  "Besides, if anyone really deserved a promotion out of all of this, it should have been Major Harrington.  I mean… he was the one that pieced the entire conspiracy together."

"That depends on Air Force High Command." Harrington replied with a shrug, "I wouldn't bet on one coming though.  They tend to drag their feet when it comes to accolades of any kind."

"This calls for a party!" Harriet suddenly announced.  "And we can kill two birds with one stone to boot!"

"What do you mean, Lieutenant?" Harrington muttered warily.

"You still haven't had your housewarming party, sir!" Harriet chirped excitedly, "We can hold the celebration at your place, and take care of both at once!"

Harrington grimaced as Harriet nearly skipped away.  "I was hoping she had forgotten about that…"

Mac laughed, "Lt. Sims never forgets a potential party.  You might as well get it over with, Major."

"You're probably right." Harrington sighed in resignation, "Well then… I better go find out what she is planning, and correct it accordingly."

Before he could chaperone Harriet's party preparations, the bullpen went silent, for Clayton Webb had just appeared at the entrance.  His expression was flat, somewhat similar to a little kid who had just been reprimanded.

Approaching the group of officers, he began sheepishly, "Congratulations on your promotion, Lt. Commander Singer… I just wanted to thank all of you for tracking down this espionage act…"

"No doubt you made yourself a hero in the process." Harrington grunted.  "I wonder just how truthful you were about your role…"

Webb pursed his lips, "If I did elaborate my role, I would consider us even for me not reporting a potential assault of a CIA agent.  You saved my ass, and I _spared_ yours."

"Not much of an assault when my target crumples like an accordion after one punch." Harrington smirked.

At that moment, the attention focused on Webb's left cheek, which was a nice shade of black and blue.  Mac turned to Harrington, and asked, "Did you two boys have a teensy-weensy incident after I left?"

"He took me by surprise." Webb grumbled.

            "Hey, Webb, I wouldn't worry about it." Harm said slyly, "So you got caught with a bare six.  From what I understand, that's nothing new for you."

            Webb's face went completely red in anger and embarrassment as the officers responded in varying stages of chuckling, or outright laughter.  Even Admiral Chegwidden couldn't stop himself from grinning in amusement.  

"I swear, Major Harrington, I am going to get you back for this little breach of confidence."  Webb threatened.

"Sure you will, Webb." Harrington replied, "Just don't expect me to supply you with any ammunition."

"Regardless, can I talk to you in private, Major?" Webb asked, before walking away to Singer and Harrington's office.

Mac addressed Harrington again, "Wow… he really doesn't like you, does he?"

"The feeling is mutual, Colonel." Harrington replied with an angry frown, "In my report of his shenanigans in Seattle, I reached the conclusion that Mr. Webb represents everything _wrong_ with the CIA.  That conclusion hasn't changed much since."

Harm shrugged, "I can't believe I'm about to defend Clayton Webb… but he's been a pretty good asset at times… when he feels the need to share everything we need to know that is."

Mac added, "Besides, its hard to do his line of work.  You have to tread a thin line between disclosing just enough to get the job done, but not too much by giving away classified information."

Harrington regarded the arguments grimly. "I was more referring to his irritating tendency to push for a conclusion that suits him best, whether or not it is the proper conclusion, as well as his tendency to glorify himself for his own personal gain."

Mac and Harm pursed their lips, and said in almost perfect unison, "Oh… in that case…"

Singer cut in, "Perhaps you should have your private talk before Mr. Webb gets impatient."

Harrington nodded, and without further conversation, slipped into the office, and shut the door.

Inside, Webb only had one immediate question.  "I think I already know the answer to this question… but when you suddenly burst out after some unknown person in London, was it a certain person we both know?"

"You're right, Webb… you already know the answer to that question." Harrington replied blandly.

"What do you think he was doing in London?"

"Gee… there was an act of espionage, and he was in the city… seems pretty obvious what he was doing."

"That's what I thought." Webb nodded, "I just wanted to see if you had reached the same conclusion.  All right, well then, if we find out any more, I'll see to it that you get it.  I know how much you want to be there when we finally bring him down."

"Thanks, Clay."

Webb smirked, and replied, "I'm serious though… I'm going to get you back for leaking that… incident of mine." With that, Webb left the office, and from there, left the bullpen.

Singer slipped inside, and asked, "So… what was that all about?"

Harrington shrugged, and replied, "Just some more empty threats…"

Gainsborough Court, Halifax, VA- 1730 EST, October 3 

            Harrington frowned as Harriet adjusted the banner just in front of his doorway for about the twentieth time.  His apartment looked like a surrealist's vision gone wrong with all the decorations that Lt. Sims had drug in from God-knows-where.  He accidentally stepped on a stray balloon that had escaped from its pin on the ceiling, and then jumped when it burst with a pop that sent little AJ dropping to the deck in surprise.

            Harriet glared at Harrington like she was accusing him of trying to wreck the decorations.  Shaking his head in denial, he turned around and sighed.  At least she hadn't protested about the lack of catering after she had sampled some of his handiwork.

            While he was on the topic, he returned to the small kitchenette, and looked over the various dishes that he was waiting to either finish baking, broiling, or steaming.  Looking over some of the vegetables, he decided to add a little bit more seasoning, then replaced the steamer cover.

            He once again tried to convince himself that he wasn't doing this for his housewarming, but as congratulations to his old friend.  That helped a little… at least that way he had a somewhat rational excuse to allow Harriet to transform his apartment into Picasso's nightmare.

            However, in an internal apology to Lt. Sims, the decorating itself wasn't that bad… it just seemed a tad on the excessive side.  Especially since he never recalled the use of dry ice smoke as acceptable in his lease…

            Further conjecture into the legality of the decorations was stalled when the first of the guests arrived.  Opening the door, he smiled at none other than the guest of honor.  Singer looked down at the floor, where a strange light gray smoke flittered with her ankles.

            "Don't ask." Harrington sighed before Singer could query.

            "Lt. Sims?" She asked wryly.

            Harrington only nodded as Singer entered the apartment, gasping at the large banner that looked professionally done that was pinned to the top of the entryway walls.  "Congratulations, Lt. Commander Singer" it said in bold blue type.

            "How did…" Singer gasped, "That must have been…"

            "I have no idea how much it cost, or where she got it done on such short notice." Harrington replied, "I get the nagging feeling I don't want to find out either."

            From there, Singer's eyes followed the ceiling, almost completely covered in white and navy blue balloons.  "How long has she…?"

            Once again, Harrington answered before she finished.  "She skipped out of work about 1300, and I, stupidly, gave her a key to this place.  Bud, his son, and I, got here about 2 hours ago.  I started cooking while they finished up what you see here."

            "It just seems so… much… especially for me…"

            "Well, if it consoles you any, I get the feeling that Lt. Sims has been itching for a party for some time." Harrington replied with a smirk.  "I mean, heaven forbid someone actually would go out of their way for you, right?"

            Singer's glare silenced Harrington, and instead he suddenly yelped, "Oh, Lord… I almost forgot I'm still cooking!"

            "Do you need a hand?" Singer asked.

            "Loren, remember the last time you tried to help me in the kitchen?  You're fortunate Aunt Nina didn't make you clean off the ceiling tiles." Harrington reminded as he quickly opened the broiler to make sure that he hadn't overdone one of his dishes.              "Hey, that wasn't my fault!"  Singer protested.  "I didn't mean to close the pressure hole!"

            Harrington thought about this for a moment, and realized that it was probably better to give her something to do.  Since it probably wasn't a good idea to leave her in Harriet's care… that left only one other option.

            "Just watch the broiler… once the fish gets a light brown, let me know." Harrington ordered, "It probably wouldn't hurt to stir the vegetables in the steamer every couple of minutes as well."

1805 EST 

            "I know it's a bit crowded in here." Harrington apologized as he looked at basically the entire office staff sitting in various positions in the kitchen and living room, "But… I am glad you all made it."

            Holding up his wine glass filled with fruit punch (he had decided for Mac's sake to make the event void of alcoholic beverages, despite Mac's protests not to pander to her), and said, "As the host of this little get-together, I would like to offer a toast to our guest of honor."

            He smiled warmly, and said, "When I first met Loren Singer, she was a cold, calculating, devious, and cynical woman.  It's amazing how little has changed in 6 years."

            "_Hey_!" Singer shouted in mock protest.

            Harrington dipped his head slightly, and replied, "In all seriousness though, it had been almost two years since I had met her face to face, but I still was impressed.  Her skill had sharpened, her determination had grown stronger, and despite her rigid exterior, the woman who I had come to known was still there."

            "You've deserved this for some time, Lt. Commander Singer." Harrington concluded, "I hope you see this as proof that if you work hard enough, you'll eventually get what you deserve.  Cheers."

            Singer flushed as the rest of the partygoers affirmed the toast.  She wasn't used to this.  Her MO had always been to do the job, and not worry about who recognized or approved of it.  But to see people that she had distrusted for so long, had fights with, and just generally been a bitch towards… applauding her… showing their approval…

            Harrington, catching onto Singer's discomfort, drew the attention back to himself quickly.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would suggest we begin the dinner before my handiwork has aged beyond it's best potential.  I slaved for almost 2 hours on this, and I'm certainly not going to let it go cold."

            Packing as comfortably as they could into Harrington's kitchen, his guests lined the walls as he unveiled each dish.

            "We have snow peas, sweet corn, and broccoli, steamed for sides." Harrington began with his usual flair when dealing with his culinary work, "We also have mashed potatoes and candied yams, if that is more to your liking."  Moving to the large dishes in the center of his table, he pulled off the steam covers, "For the main course, we have lemon pepper oven-roasted chicken marinated in stock, as well as Alaskan salmon broiled in olive oil." Then opening one last pan, he commented, "And for Commander Rabb's special palate, I have prepared vegetable stir-fry, cooked in soy sauce and white wine.  And when we are ready for desert," Harrington finished, "I have Dutch Apple pie, triple fudge devil's food cake, and peach turnovers with pecans."

            With the exception of a scant few who had the opportunity to sample Harrington's kitchen prowess in the past, the assembled guests marveled at the spread that rivaled any professional caterer's in the city.  Mac licked her lips in anticipation, and moved for the dishes.

            "Now, Colonel…" Harrington chided, intercepting her hand, "It is custom to allow the guest of honor first choice."

            "Fine." Mac stated, "But I'm going second."

            "No one would dare challenge that claim, Mac." Harm joked.

1847 EST 

            Admiral Chegwidden took one last sip of punch, and handed his plate to Harrington, who dutifully placed it in the sink with the rest of the dishes that were compiling.  "Major, I must offer my thanks for such a wonderfully prepared dinner."

            "Ah, that was actually pretty easy stuff, sir." Harrington said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

            Harm laughed as he slipped next to the Admiral, handing over his plate in the process, "Well, Steve, the Admiral knows all about people who weren't exactly… skilled cooks."

            Chegwidden winced at some of the memories, then smiled deviously at Harrington.  "It just is nice for me to know that if I am ever in the urge for prime cooking that won't cost me an arm and a leg, I know who to order…" with that, he slipped away back into the living room.

            Eventually deciding that the Admiral was joking, Harrington turned his attention to the guests who were now chatting in the living room.  Noticing Singer sitting in Harrington's plush reclining chair, the back of her beige shirt leaving a small opening between the fabric and her neck, his mouth twisted into a trickster's smirk.

            "What is going through your head, Steve?" Harm asked warily as Harrington quietly opened his freezer, and emerged with a lone ice cube.

            Harrington waved Harm aside, and commented in a conspiratorial whisper.  "Oh… nothing much, Harm… just a little college prank that 'broke the ice', so to speak…"

            Meanwhile, Singer was actually having a genial conversation with Commander Turner and Lt. Sims, two people that she had never before would have felt at ease enough to even exchange pleasantries with.  It was quite an epiphany to realize just how easy it was to get along with them when she decided just simply to give it the effort, and not instantly assume the worst.

            So engrossed was she in her conversation, that she had forgotten to keep an eye on her old college friend, since his antics during parties, generally targeting her, had been become subject of urban legend at Dartmouth.  She had assumed that the adult world would have tempered his playfulness.

            That proved to be a mistake.

            "I'm sure that A.J. will grow out of his 'artistic' phase, Lieutenant." Singer replied as Harriet had just completed discussing her son's new hobby of finger-painting the walls of her house.  "Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give him some more conventional means to express him_…self_!" Her last syllable ended in a yelp as she felt something freezing slip down the back of her shirt, lazily sliding down the curve of her spine.  Her mouth opened in shock as she went totally rigid, finally relaxing once the offending article fell to the seat of the chair.

            It took Singer all of two seconds to figure out what and who was responsible for her sudden discomfort.  She found the timing quite uncanny.  The first time Harrington had done that to her, served as the breaking point that finally had caused her to open up to him, and begin trusting him.  Tilting her head to see the mischievous grin plastered on Harrington's face, she knew that he remembered the significance.

            Grinning sadistically, Singer growled, "Remember what happened the last time you did that to me?"

            "Yeah." Harrington answered, his smile still firmly in place.  "You chased me around the house for about 20 minutes, and then beat the tar out of me."

            "What makes you think it'll be any different this time?"

            That got the smile to disappear.  He gauged Singer's expression, trying to determine the seriousness of her threat.

            Harm finally commented, "I suggest you start running, Major."

            That Harrington did, bursting out the door of his apartment, and down the hall, Singer a mere second behind.  When the laughter died down, the guests were left wondering as to just what they should do.

"This may occupy our host and guest of honor for a few moments." Harm stated with a broad smirk, "In the meantime, anyone up for another slice of pie?"

1900 EST 

            Harrington panted as he stood in between the stairwell of the first and second floors along the east wing of the apartment complex.  "Hi, how you doing?" He said breathlessly to a middle-aged couple walking by, who looked at him like he was either stoned, or just plain nuts, before proceeding up the steps at a slightly faster rate.

            Looking back up to the top of the stairwell, he noticed that Singer had stopped pursuing him, probably waiting for him to think she had left, and then to have him walk right into her clutches.

            "Like hell I will." Harrington muttered to himself, turning around to the first floor exit.  He could work his way around to the west wing, and then climb up that stairwell to his floor.

            Smirking at his ingenuity, he opened the first floor door… to find Singer staring right at him.

            "Elevators are quirky little things, aren't they?" Singer asked rhetorically, slowly advancing on her prey.  Harrington stepped back at the same rate, until he tripped on the first step of the stairwell, falling on his back.

            "Now, I've got you right where I want you." Singer smirked evilly, that is, until she yelped in surprise.  Harrington had swept her legs out from under her, catching her as she fell backwards.  Kneeling next to her, he asked smugly, "Now… _who's_ got _whom _here?"

            A mere second later, he had collapsed to his side next to his victim, a recipient of a vicious grab and pull from Singer.  What happened next, Harrington decided was the work of some demonic possession, since it disregarded any and all common sense.

            It was like someone had set off a firecracker in his stomach.  The expanding warmth was a very welcome experience, despite every logical corner of his mind was screaming at him to regain his senses.  However, the longer he continued, the harder it was to stop, and the easier it was for him to ignore that little voice of conscience.

By the time they had broken away from the kiss, Harrington rolled over on his back, rubbing his temples, and muttered, "We did _not_ just do that…"

            "No, we didn't." Singer agreed, equally disgusted by her actions.  True, disgust was probably the last feeling she had possessed at the time, but now given time to decompress and rationalize again, there was no doubt that she had been more than stupid.

            "We were hallucinating… that's all."

            "Yeah, that's it… the paint in this stairwell looks quite new, we've just inhaled too many fumes."

            "Perhaps we should get out of here before our guests start wondering what happened to us." Harrington suggested.

            "For once you have a good idea." Singer replied.  After they had stood up, one last flash of indiscretion caused Singer to close the distance between them again.

            Harrington allowed himself to enjoy the moment for a brief second, but this time, his sense took control before it got nearly as out of hand.  "We _really_ need to stop hallucinating, Loren."

            Singer nodded, "I know…"

            "We'll talk about this later… okay?" Harrington explained, "How about after the guests leave?"  Waiting for Singer's nod, noting her silent approval to the idea, Harrington began the trek up the stairwell.

            It suddenly looked a hell of a lot longer going up than it did on the way down…

End Episode 9 

* * *


	10. Violating Team Rules

Author's Note:  Things are really heating up now.  For you H/M shippers, I give you all a little something… enjoy it, and don't worry; it won't turn out at all bad.

Episode 10 Violating Team Rules JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 0850 EST, October 4 

Harrington smiled slightly to his officemate as he slipped inside their office, and took a seat at his desk to prepare for the daily morning briefing.  Trying not to even glance at the woman who was sitting at the desk directly across from him, he failed miserably, and discovered that she was looking at him with such intensity that she likely didn't realize he was looking at her.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" Harrington finally commented.

Singer nodded in agreement, "No, probably not…"

Harrington sighed.  They had went over this last night, but it had been foolish of him to think that their discussion would settle what was obviously new territory for both of them.

            It had been a nervous discussion at best, as Harrington had recalled, and it was doubtful that Singer had said everything that had been on her mind, and Harrington knew that he had made some promises that were quite possible he wouldn't be able to keep…

Flashback to the previous night… 

            "So, what are we going to do about… well… us?" Harrington asked, "We obviously can't be involved while were in the same office and department."

            "Absolutely not." Singer agreed.  "How long until your guest stay at JAG terminates?"

"I was never given a set time to report back to High Command for new orders."  Harrington replied with a shrug, "It could be anywhere from a couple of months to a year.  Whenever they decide I could be useful somewhere else."

"I could handle a couple months." Singer replied, her voice not reflecting the confidence her words would normally imply.  "Or a year… I think…" Groaning in dismay, she sighed, "Hell, I've held back for years… I think I can handle one more…"

"Years?" Harrington asked.

"Ironically, it started with the ice incident." Singer admitted, "You just wouldn't give up on getting me to like you.  You joked with me, you partnered with me even when I absolutely refused to let you.  I remember how you sat on the hood of my car until I agreed to be your partner in the final project for Legal Ethics in our Junior year."

Harrington chuckled, "Yeah… I seemed to recall you sprayed me with your wiper fluid four times, claiming there was a huge bug on your windshield."

"Regardless… I let you in… I trusted you like I hadn't trusted anyone before.  You were the first person I ran to after what Crenshaw did to me.  Then when you defended me the way you did… I realized just how strong I felt for you…"

"I just did what I felt was the right thing to do." Harrington replied modestly, "When your parents turned on you, saying it was your fault, and refused to let you press charges…"

Singer choked back a sob, and added, "Then you had your accident, and I was scared to death that you'd never wake up… I just sat next to you, waiting… hoping… then I learned you were leaving for Seattle, and I was able to convince myself that I'd never see you again…  I had convinced myself that I didn't feel anything towards you, then you came to JAG… and it all began flooding back to me…"

Once again disregarding his good sense, Harrington embraced his oft-partner, and replied, "Well, I'm not going anywhere now.  After my tour here is done, however long that is, I'll see what I can do to get stationed nearby.  If push comes to shove, I'll go into private practice."

Singer paused.  People in her profession didn't just joke about changing the scope of their careers like that.  "You'd… do that for me…?"

"I'd be willing to do anything for you." Harrington replied, "You deserve nothing less."

JAG Headquarters 

            Looking back, Harrington realized just how hard it would be for him to keep his promise to her.  His duties gave him little say just where he wound up, and leaving would be difficult at best considering what he did.

            However, as he appraised his officemate, he knew that he was going to try his hardest… even if it meant sacrificing the career he had worked hard for the 2 years after he left college.  Private practice wasn't terrible after all.  'Gee… what Ronnie would give to hear me thinking this right now…' He added to himself.

            Singer was about to say something when she noticed the clock on her desk.  "0900, Major… let's get to the briefing."

            "Very well, Lt. Commander." Harrington replied, trying to keep a straight face at their blatantly professional attempts at exchange.  If he could tell it was phony, then there was no way that anyone else in the bullpen would believe it, either.

            Singer chuckled, "God, we're pathetic, aren't we?"

            "Hopefully not for too much longer."

_Admiral Chegwidden's Office- 0900 EST_

            "We have been given a Priority One assignment today, one that will require almost all of the resources we have." The Admiral stated to his assembled officers.  "I will be leading a group of investigators to Taiwan."

            "Why there, sir?" Mac asked.

            "The Chinese government has accused several Marine Recon teams in Taipei of... instigating attacks on the Chinese mainland.  Our job is to determine whether or not the accusations are true."

            "Like the Chinese would believe our conclusions." Harm added wryly.

            Admiral Chegwidden nodded, "Probably not... but the SecNav tells us to go, and therefore, we go.  I guess it looks good for him in Washington.  At any rate, Colonel MacKenzie, Commander Rabb, Lt. Commander Singer, and Major Harrington will join me.  Commander Turner, you will be acting JAG in my absence."

            When Sturgis nodded, the Admiral concluded, "As I said, people, this is a Priority One assignment.  All current cases for the officers accompanying me are to be transferred down to the military court for reassignment.  You have 8 hours to get ready... anybody 'stuck in traffic' will get left behind.  Dismissed."

            As the officers began to leave, Chegwidden said, "Major Harrington, one moment."

            Something in Harrington's mind clicked as he gauged his commanding officer's expression.  With a sigh, he said, "There's no instigation in Taiwan, is there?"

            Chegwidden shook his head.  "No, there's not.  I got a call from Webb about 30 minutes ago.  Central Intelligence has reason to believe that... Randall... is in Taiwan.  JAG is to provide a cover for the manhunt."

            "Why does the CIA need a cover?"

            "Because they think that Randall is moving between Taiwan and the mainland.  With Chinese attention being drawn to the JAG investigation, they might not be as likely to call Randall back."

            Harrington nodded, "Throwing them off track by making them think we're searching in entirely the wrong place.  So, what does this have to do with me?"

            "Because Webb and I feel that you have a vested interest in the manhunt, and you will be assisting him and the CIA.  I find it interesting, to be honest.  Normally, Webb doesn't trust people like us with such sensitive ops."

            "I've given up on understanding how Webb thinks.  It's probably because he doesn't want me messing up his 'delicate plans' with obnoxious little things like 'the truth'.  Thus, he wants me where he can keep a close eye on me."

            "Well, regardless, you'll need to be ready just like everyone else." the Admiral ordered, "You are dismissed, Major."

            Harrington slipped out the door, and replied, "I wouldn't miss this for the world, sir."

US Embassy, Taipei, Taiwan- 0835 Taipei Standard Time, October 5 

            "So... why is Major Harrington going with you, Mr. Webb?" Mac asked out of curiosity.

            Webb glared at Harrington, and replied, "I want to be right there when _he does something embarrassing so that I can tell it to everyone __he knows."_

            "Not going to happen, Webb... but you're free to try." Harrington answered smugly.  "Then again… got $500 I can blow on an undercover cop?"

            Various chuckles filtered through the assembled teams, except for a certain Navy officer, who grunted in disapproval of Harrington's comment.  Harrington noticed this, and the smile on his face disappeared in an instant.

            "Not that I would ever do such a thing… mind you…" Harrington quickly amended, trying to erase the displeased scowl on Singer's features.  "It was just a joke… seriously."  Meanwhile Webb noted the actions between the pair, filing it for potential future use.

            "I'd hope so." Singer glared.  "Perhaps we should just cut short the idle chit-chat, and actually get on with the investigation?"

            "Sounds good, Lt. Commander." Chegwidden answered, "We'll reconvene at 2200 for a short briefing.  Let's move."

_1130_

            "Sir, we, nor any of our other Recon teams were ever ordered to attack the Chinese mainland." The operating Lieutenant replied indignantly at the question Commander Rabb posed to him.

            "I never said you were _ordered_, Lieutenant." Harm replied, "I just asked if you _had_."

            "That would also be negative, sir." The Lieutenant replied again.

            "Then do you have any information about the boat that has been leaving Taiwan for the mainland almost daily?" Mac asked.  "Witness accounts suggest it is large enough for a small Recon unit to travel under radar detection."

            "This is the first I've heard of this, ma'am." The Lieutenant replied.

            "Colonel, Commander, that's enough." Admiral Chegwidden sighed.  "You're dismissed, Lieutenant."

            The Recon officer saluted, and left the interview room as fast as his legs could take him without breaking out running.  Mac and Harm whirled to face their commanding officer ready to ask why he had cut off their questioning.

            "I think we're barking up the wrong tree." The Admiral explained, "Even if any of the Recon teams are taking… vigilante missions against the Chinese, they aren't going to admit it to us."

            Singer nodded, "Which is why we're going to take some harbor tours.  I've already gone through the Taiwanese government for a list of registered vessels on this island that would be large enough to move a Recon team."

            "That's assuming that the vessel is registered." Mac retorted.

            "Well, it's a good place to start." Singer replied, "At this point, knowing what it _isn't_ is just as important as knowing what it _is_."

_US Embassy, 1135_

            "This is Agent Carlson of the CIA, and he has been our primary operative in Taiwan." Webb replied casually to Harrington in introduction.

            "What's with the military, Clay?" Agent Carlson replied, gesturing with his head to Harrington.

            "This is…" Webb began, correcting himself after seeing the ever so slight shaking of the Major's head, "…Major Steve Harrington of the Judge Advocate General.  I'm dragging him along so that I can hopefully keep him from causing trouble."

            "Steve… Harrington?" The CIA operative said in disbelief, "Any relation to…"

            "Yes, Mr. Carlson." Harrington replied, "Which the primary reason I'm here.  I offer the proper cover for the real investigation."

            "I see… well then, let's get inside, and I can begin the briefing." Agent Carlson said, motioning Harrington and Webb inside the soundproof room that served as his office.

_1750_

            "Well, that's every registered ship in this dock." Harm replied, sliding another file into his briefcase.  "How many more docks do we have to check out?"

            "Four." Singer replied with a tired sigh.  "I hadn't expected there to be this many, sir."

            "This is an island, Lt. Commander." Mac laughed, "What did you expect?"

            "It's just that this is going to take us days to go through the ownership, and check out all these leads."

            "It's a Priority One assignment, Lt. Commander." Harm replied with a laugh, "Which means we take as much time as we need.  Besides, we should enjoy this little place while we have the chance."

            "I'll admit, the weather is slightly more preferable to Washington…" Singer replied slyly.  "Are you suggesting that we spend the next few hours before the briefing, 'enjoying this little place'?"

            "Not at all, we do need to get dinner after all."

            "Dinner shouldn't take us 4 hours, Commander."

            Harm's eyes twinkled playfully, "Remember, Lt. Commander, we _do_ have Colonel MacKenzie with us."

            Singer caught the joke, and nodded, "That's right… we do… are you sure 4 hours will be enough time?"

            "All right now…" Mac cut in, trying extremely hard to sound insulted.  "That's enough of that."

            It was effective enough to rattle Singer, who quickly began to stammer an apology.  Insulting a superior officer was never a good idea, especially one that she was actually trying to establish a better rapport with than in the past.

            It wasn't until she heard Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie laughing that she realized an apology wasn't at all necessary.  "Actually, Lt. Commander, I think we can visit another dock or two, then have plenty of time to actually enjoy eating without having to rush to get to the briefing." Mac finally concluded.

            "Sounds like a plan, ma'am." Singer answered back.

_US Embassy, 2200_

            "Well, we aren't quite finished with collecting the relevant vessel information, Sir." Mac replied as representative for her team, "And it may take a couple days to analyze the information we gather."

            "This is assuming the vessel sailing between the mainland and here is registered." Chegwidden replied.

            "We actually figure it isn't sir.  But if we know which ships are registered here, it might make it easier to spot one that isn't."

            "What about your team, Webb?"

            Webb exhaled, and replied, "We've just finished putting our operatives in place, and they'll be looking around for any behavior among the marines that seems… suspicious.  If we can make a connection with a group of marines sailing around in an unregistered vessel… I think we would have a prime suspect."

            "That would be a optimal scenario… but investigations rarely turn out optimally." Chegwidden commented, "We also have to consider the most likely possibility that members of Recon _aren't _running around China stirring up trouble."

            While Chegiwidden and Webb were exchanging their ideas, Harm turned to Mac and whispered, "Something's up here.  Webb is _never_ this cooperative."

            "Agreed.  I get the feeling that there is a lot more going on here." Mac replied.

            "Have you ever thought that maybe Mr. Webb is being straightforward with us?" Singer interrupted softly, "Why are you instantly assuming that Webb is hiding something from us?"

            Mac and Harm looked towards their teammate, and whisper simultaneously, "This is Webb."

            "Right… of course…"

            Admiral Chegwidden's voice cut in, interrupting the three's discussion.  "All right, I know this meeting was a little short, but let me assure you as more information starts coming in we'll be here sorting out for quite some time.  We'll meet at 2200 again tomorrow.  Hopefully, we'll all have more to show for it.  Dismissed."

            Just outside the Embassy, Harm, Mac, and Singer ran into Harrington.  "Heading back to the hotel, Steve?" Harm asked.

            With a sigh, Harrington replied, "No, unfortunately.  Webb says he has some things he wants me to look over with him.  I think he wants a lawyer's perspective on them."

            "Does Webb's actions strike you as a little strange, Major?"

            Harrington shrugged, "_Everything _Webb does strikes me as strange.  I don't doubt he's running something on the side here.  I'll keep my eyes open.  I suggest you do the same."

            Singer cut in and replied, "Well then, I suppose that I will be on my way back to the hotel.  Never hurts to get an actual good night's sleep now and then."

            "I'll drop you off there, Lt. Commander." Harm replied, "I think that I'm going to drive down the coast.  It's supposedly stunning at night."

            "I think I'll join you, Commander." Mac replied.  "I could use a little relaxation before I call it a night."

            The three filed into the rental car, and pulled out of the Embassy parking lot, and Harrington slipped back inside.

_Moments later…_

            "All right, I'll keep an eye on Lt. Singer.  Are you sure that you'll be able to follow Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie?"  Webb asked.

            "Earlier in the day, I had a homing device planted on their car.  Unless they drive off into the Pacific, I'll be able to follow them."  The visitor replied, the shadows in the darkened embassy cloaking his features.

            "Are you sure about this?"  Webb queried.

            "My superiors are expecting some sort of report on my mission in three days.  I'll finally be able to dismiss those two from any suspicion."

            "Who do you think is responsible for the leak?"

            "To be honest, I don't think there is one…" The cloaked figured replied, "But if it is by some off chance the Colonel and/or the Commander, then now would be a prime opportunity to catch them in the act."

_2245_

            "You're right, Harm.  The coast is absolutely breathtaking from here." Mac said in awe as the barely lit coastline rushed past them.

            "I heard a lot of my fellow Navy officer talk about it." Harm replied, "It seemed like as good of a time as any to see what all the talk was about."

            Slowly pulling to a stop along a parking strip along the coastline, Harm and Mac discovered the beach to be closed for the evening.  So instead they stood outside the car, and just enjoyed the view.  It was a clear night, and the dim lighting allowed for a nice contingent of stars to twinkle.

            "So, why did you come here with me, Mac?" Harm asked flippantly.  "And don't say that it was because you wanted a moment's relaxation.  I've known you for a long time, and I know when you aren't being honest."

            Mac paused.  She should have figured that Harm would be able to read her.  As it was, she wasn't ready.  She had been hoping to have some more time to gather her courage.  "Oh… it's nothing really.  Just wanted to spend some time with my… friend."

            "Come on, Mac.  If you have something to say to me, just say it." Harm replied casually, although his mind was racing at a rate that could not be described as remotely casual.  Mac only got this nervous about a few things, and he was fairly certain which one it was…

            "It's just… when you had that… accident on the Truman, well… from what I heard, you nearly died.  It made me realize all over again… the things that I've wanted to say to you… and have never been able to…"

            "Mac…" Harm began, but the Colonel quickly silenced him with a raised hand.

            "No, Harm, I have to say this now.  What happens because of it we can deal with later, okay?" Mac suddenly sounded considerably more confident.  "I just want you to know that… I … I … I lo…"

            "Wait a minute." Harm suddenly interrupted, his attention drawn past her along the coastline.  "Do you hear that?"

            Displeased at the interruption, Mac wasn't particularly inclined to hear _anything_ at that point.  However, as she calmed down, she did indeed hear the sound of an airplane approaching.  Looking above her, she saw a small biplane much like the one Harm occasionally fly pass overhead, heading the wrong direction for Taiwan's main airport. 

            "Now… why would a biplane be flying in from the mainland with all lights at 2300?" Harm asked.

            Her emotional admissions were temporarily forgotten by her inquisitive nature.  "I really can't say.  Why don't we check it out?"

            Quickly climbing back into their car, they took off in the hope of tailing the biplane as well as they could in the dark skies of Taiwan.

_0016_

            Fortunately, the biplane took a route parallel to one of Taiwan's major roadways, heading off into the center of the island.  Harm watched it slowly descend from his vision faster than the horizon could compensate for, suggesting it had landed.  Making a quick spatial note in his mind, he turned off the roadway at his nearest opportunity, and started to proceed to the best of his ability towards the landing site of the aircraft.

            "Where are we going, Harm?  I don't see the plane anywhere…" Mac asked.

            "I saw it… and I saw it land." Harm assured her.

            Eventually, the road led to a one-way dirt road that led to a secluded landing strip, the fresh tire tracks imprinted into the road suggesting that someone had been there recently.  Harm pulled over to the shoulder, and he and Mac waited to see if whoever had landed had already left.  

            One lone light shone on the landing strip, and from there, Harm saw an SUV, it's lights off, pulling away from the strip, heading back out the single lane dirt road, and towards their position.

            Thinking quickly, Harm grabbed Mac by the shoulders, and turned her to him.  "Harm… what are you… mmmph!" Mac protested, then was silenced by Harm's lips sealing over hers.  It wasn't exactly how she expected Harm to make his move, and especially at a time like this, but… in the end… why complain?

            She was starting to actually enjoy the exchange when she saw a black SUV pull out of the dirt road, and then drive down the road that Harm and Mac had just come from, finally turning on his headlights about a half-mile down the road.  That's when she realize just what Harm was doing; if they had been seen, they could simply masquerade as a pair of military people sneaking out for some secluded make-out time.  Once she realized that, the moment died, and she pushed herself away.

            "Next time you do that… think you can warn me?" Mac replied tersely, wiping her lips with her forearm.

            "Sorry… didn't have much time." Harm replied, "It sure didn't seem like you disagreed with the idea."

            "Dream on, flyboy." Mac shot back, then pointed down the dirt road.  "Are we going to investigate just what that plane is doing here or not?"

            "Yes, ma'am." Harm replied, slipping out of the car, and motioning for Mac to do the same.  The airstrip was completely accessible to anyone, not even a wire fence standing to dissuade visitors.

            "I'd wager a handful of people even know this is here." Mac replied when Harm brought it up.  "If not less."

            The plane itself was painted a solid dark gray.  Upon seeing it up close, Mac asked, "How could you follow that thing, Harm?  I can barely see it 10 feet in front of me."

            Harm pointed to the back of the plane, and explained  "On most biplanes, there is a rear guide light that cannot be turned off, and it's to help avoid mid-air collisions.  Most pilots don't even know it's there, much less the means necessary to disable it."

            "I see." She tested the door, and discovered it to be unlocked.  "Okay… I'm really starting to not like this at all."

            "Agreed.  It's almost like someone is _inviting_ us to investigate." Harm said, "But at the same time, we have to find out as much as we can about this."

_Outside the Airstrip_

            A shadowed figure watched the pair as they entered the plane with ease.  Suddenly, the little pieces he had been gathering were starting to add up, and he didn't like what they were adding up to.

            Maybe there was a legitimate reason that Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie were inside an airplane that had tried to sneak into Taiwan from the mainland… but he couldn't think of what.  They had waited at the beach, appearing as if to confirm the plane's arrival, then followed it directly to the airstrip.  Considering past instances… it painted a pretty damning picture.

            The man's cel-phone vibrated, and he answered it, not saying anything into the phone.

            "Agent Carlson has been found dead.  Someone shot him once, cleanly through the head.  I think we have a pretty good idea who is responsible." Webb said.

            The figure didn't answer, nor did Webb expect him to.  Flipping closed his cel-phone he slid back into his car, and slowly pulled away with the lights off to keep from drawing the Colonel and Commander's attention.

            Things had just gotten real messy.

_0120_

            Singer flipped restlessly in her bed, realizing that sleep was defying her tonight.  Something didn't feel right.  Finally, giving up the hope for slumber, Singer dressed into some casual clothes, and stepped outside her hotel room.

            She decided to visit Harrington to see if he had come back yet.  She figured she would have heard him enter his room next door, but she figured he had to be back from wherever he had gone with Webb by now.

            Stepping in front of Harrington's room, she knocked twice, but received no answer.  Shaking her head, she turned to return to her room… then saw… him…

            She had only seen pictures of the man in question, but she had very little doubt of his identity nonetheless.  Small patches of red, which Singer quickly identified as blood, were splattered lightly on the right sleeve of the middle-aged man's black cargo pants and black hooded sweatshirt.

            "You!" Singer suddenly shouted, and the man in question whirled around, bolting at top speed for the stairs.  Singer tried to follow pursuit, but she was no match for a person who had spent 28 years ducking and dodging the law.  By the time she reached the hotel lobby, he was gone, but he apparently dropped a small folded note.

            Singer opened the note, and read its contents.

            _Steven, meet me at the old US embassy at 0300. – Randall_

            Singer blanched.  There was no way she could allow Harrington to see this…

_0220_

            Harm and Mac gasped at the sight of the murder.  CIA agent Christopher Carlson, slumped over his desk, a bullet hole planted directly over his right ear, and a smashed window, suggesting that the assassin had fired from across the street.

            Webb pushed them away from the murder scene.  "Listen, I know that we're working together here, but this is an internal CIA affair, okay?"

            "Then why is Major Harrington allowed inside?" Mac asked in protest.

            "He has a vested interest in this case, okay?  That's all I'm allowed to say." Webb replied, and continued pushing on the pair until they got the hint.  Turning away in mild disgust, they didn't get far until Lieutenant Singer and Admiral Chegwidden met them.

            "Come with us." Chegwidden ordered, "I think it's time I explained the true nature of our presence here."

__

_0235_

            Knowing better than to demand anything of their commanding officer, Mac and Harm waited patiently for the Admiral to explain himself.

            "You all know that I was a former Navy SEAL, correct?" Chegwidden asked, and once receiving nods from his two officers continued, "Well… there's a little more to my history after the SEALs that I technically am not allowed to disclose.  However, considering the direction this case has taken, it might be wise to explain."

            "Marine Recon hasn't been moving in on China, has it?" Harm guessed.

            "No, it hasn't." Chegwidden admitted, "This entire case has been about finding a man named Randall Harrington."

            "Randall… Harrington?" Mac asked, "As in…"

            "Major Harrington's father, yes.  Randall was a former operative for the CIA, specializing in counter-espionage investigation.  However, at some point, he decided he'd _become_ an espionage agent for the Chinese."

            "What does this have to do with you, sir?"

            "After I left the SEALS, I spent some time as a soldier for a secret Government SWAT team of sorts, trained in apprehending and eliminating double agents."  Chegwidden sighed, "One of our missions was after Randall."

            "I take it that the mission didn't go as planned?" Harm asked.

            "No… we prepared to make our move… but… we got the wrong person.  Randall escaped after his wife interfered with our pursuit."

            "Steve's mother… he said she died while he was very young…" Mac gasped.

            "She came at one of the members of my team with a knife from her kitchen." Chegwidden inhaled.  He obviously didn't like remembering this, "I had no choice… I… fired the shot that killed her…"

            Mac covered her gaping mouth with her hand, and Harm shifted nervously in his seat before asking, "Does Major Harrington know about this?"

            "He does." The Admiral replied, "He really hated me for a long time, though.  I'd been keeping tabs on him for some time while he grew up.  I guess I felt somewhat guilty for destroying his family."

            Mac decided to spare the Admiral further recollections.  "So, we believe Randall Harrington to be involved in the death of Agent Carlson?"

            "He's also probably responsible for the plane pursued coming from the mainland." Harm stated.

            "Lt. Commander Singer encountered Randall outside of Major Harrington's hotel room earlier tonight.  He left what appears to me a note for Harrington to meet him at the old US embassy in Taipei."

            Singer handed the pair the note, and said, "Knowing how Steve feels about his father… I don't want him to see this."

            "Neither do I." Chegwidden replied, his face contorted into an angry grimace, "Nor do I want Webb finding out about this.  The CIA will likely kill Randall on the spot.  I want answers."  Calming, he added to Harm and Mac, "Now I can't _order_ you to do anything here… it's out of my jurisdiction.  However, if you just _happen_ to be around the old embassy at 0300… I'd like to see you apprehend Randall Harrington."

            "Aye, aye, sir." Harm nodded.  Mac seconded the motion readily.

            "Just be careful.  Randall's very wily, and has proven his ability to elude capture in the past.  I would also consider him to be extremely dangerous." The Admiral warned.

            Harm agreed.  "He wouldn't have lasted this long if he wasn't, sir.  We'll be ready."

_0300_

            The old US Embassy looked like a product of the 1950's… and also looked like it hadn't been touched in 20 years.  The brick in many places was disintegrating rapidly, and on the front door Harm saw a bright yellow sign in Chinese.

            "Probably means this place is due to be demolished." Harm guessed as he opened the door to step inside.

            "Perfect place for one of the CIA's most wanted men to hold a meeting." Mac mused as she followed Harm inside.

            The interior of the embassy was covered with the dust of misuse.  Cobwebs hung from just about every corner, and the tiles beneath their feet were stained gray from the dust and mildew.

            "I think we're the only ones here, Mac." Harm commented as he looked down at the tiled floor.

            "Why do you say that?" His partner queried.

            "The only footprints in the dust are ours."

            "That's what I'd like visitors to believe." A tenor voice hissed.  Before Harm and Mac could turn to face the source of the voice, the sound of a pistol clicking off safety interrupted them.  "The first one of you that moves will be responsible for both of your deaths.  Understand?"

            "Perfectly." Harm replied, "So you're Randall Harrington?"

            "I'll ask the questions here, pretty boy." Randall snapped, apparently keeping his distance judging from the sound of his footsteps.  "Where is my son?"

            "He won't be meeting you tonight." Mac retorted.

            "Why not?"

            "He doesn't know about the little note you sent."

            Randall cursed, "Damn stupid girl… I should have guessed she wouldn't deliver my message.  You two are idiots, you know that?"

            "What do you mean?" Mac replied.

            "If you two know about this little meeting, then I can guarantee you the CIA does too."  The sound of several cars screeching to a halt drew his attention slightly.  "Speak of the devil.  Well, I'm sorry, but I need to be going.  If I were you two, I'd think up a _damn_ good excuse for being here."

            "What is that supposed to mean?" Mac demanded, but by then, Randall Harrington had disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.  Soon after, several armed and armored CIA agents burst into the embassy.

            "Randall was just here…" Harm began, but was interrupted when one of the agents pushed his sub-machine gun into Harm's face.

            From behind the armed agents, Harm saw Clayton Webb appear with two pairs of handcuffs.  "You don't know how much this hurts me to say this… but you two are under arrest for conspiracy to commit espionage against the United States."

**End Episode 10**


	11. Taking one for the Team

Author's Note: Once again, this chapter is a little shorter than the others are, but it was such a perfect cut-off point that I just couldn't pass it up. Enjoy.

2nd Author's Note: Oops, I did it again… slight error in the chapter, folks.  Thank you ZZ… fortunately, it wasn't something terribly important to the story… (sigh of relief**)**

**Episode 11:**

**Taking one for the Team**

_District of Columbia Federal Prison- 1200 EST, October 12_

"I'll take care of the defense, Colonel." Admiral Chegwidden replied as Mac cut in on his explanation of his defense strategy. "I'm glad for your input, but I'm not going to put you and Commander Rabb before that firing squad the SecNav calls a jury."

"I don't understand why you won't call us to defend ourselves. This is _our _court martial after all..." Mac reiterated.

"Because I know the man who will be prosecuting. His name is Assistant Director Harold Cadillac, and he could see a communist in a hall of mirrors. He makes Joe McCarthy look like Eugene Debs, and he'll take any little thing you _might _have done in the past and warp it into any twisted scheme he could concoct, with no qualms whatsoever." Chegwidden answered. "I wish I would have given you an official order, and you wouldn't be in this mess."

"Yeah, and you'd be sitting here instead of us." Harm replied. "Neither Mac or I would ever ask that of you."

"I just don't understand the CIA's case against us." Mac pondered. "Have they given you any indication as to what other than the meeting in Taipei we supposedly did?"

"That information is classified." Chegwidden hissed, "Besides, the way espionage cases work... you are for all intents and purposes guilty until proven innocent. And unfortunately until I know exactly what their case is... I don't know how I'll defend against it."

"Don't worry, sir. We trust you to do the best you can." Harm assured him.

"I can only pray for your sakes that it will be enough."

_JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1320 EST_

__

"God, this is an absolute sham!" Bud cried out in frustration as he was once again blocked from any information involving the CIA's case. "How are we supposed to make any sort of defense for our own if we have no access to the case against them?"

"Problems, Lt. Roberts?" Sturgis asked, once again acting like the eye of the hurricane, but deep inside, he was battling the increasing panic that was becoming infectious in the bullpen.

"The CIA refuses to release any files or interviews involving their case against Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie. They claim since we are close to the people involved, they cannot release it to us due to conflict of interest."

"While the SecNav refuses to allow any other department handle their defense." Singer grunted in frustration. "Because we would be the 'most motivated for their acquittal'. It's like we're trying to fight with both hands tied behind our backs."

From outside his office that he shared with Singer, Harrington poked his head out. "Hey, less chatter, more work. We're not going to pull of this miracle by dwelling on what we can't do.  Let's focus on what we can do, and do it as wel1 as we can."

He smiled slightly at the officers in the bullpen, and continued, "I know that I haven't been here long, but I've already realized that nothing is impossible when all of you put your heads together." With that, he slipped back into his office.

As his fellow officers gave his words some serious thought, Harrington returned to his desk. He had stayed in Taiwan one day longer than the rest of the JAG team, following an anonymous lead, and it had led to some serious changes in how he had initially viewed the events in Taiwan.

Unfortunately, as he looked at the evidence he had gathered, to act on what he had gathered could really do a lot of damage to a lot of lives, including his own. At the moment, he decided to see how the initial days of the trial turned out. He had faith in the people he worked with, and if there were any defense that could be made with the lack of information given... he would bet even money that they'd find it.

_U.S. District Court, District of Columbia- 1000 EST, October 16_

__

Harold Cadillac was a man who knew how to spotlight the worst aspects of a person, which made him, the perfect man to prosecute this type of case. An opponent of his once said that Cadillac "Could make a little girl holding a puppy look like a demon". Harold actually took pride in this reference. After all, he had been an U.S. Representative for many years.

However, this case was going to be way too easy. Once the files pertaining to Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had been sent to him, he instantly saw fodder that any half-brained lawyer could use to rip the two military advocates to shreds.

Cadillac stood, and with a proud grin, said, "The State calls U.S. Navy Commander Harmon Rabb to the stand."

Admiral Chegwidden jumped to his feet in objection. "Your honor, calling my defendant to testify against himself?"

The judge shook her head, "Overruled. If you wish, you can call Commander Rabb to the stand to tell his story when it is your turn to call for testimony. Approach the stand, Commander."

Harm did so, and AD Cadillac wasted no time tearing into the Commander. "Commander Rabb, did you or did you not fly in a foreign aircraft without orders into Russia?"

Harm paused, getting a pretty good idea where he was going with this. "Yes, I did."

"For what reason?"

"I was looking for evidence that my father was still alive after being taken as a POW in the Vietnam War."

Cadillac nodded, then replied, "I see. Tell me, Commander... did you find him?"

"No, it appeared he died in Russia."

"I see... then as I understand, you encountered a member of Russian intelligence, correct?"

"Yes… he arranged for myself and Colonel MacKenzie to get out of the country without further incident."

"Is that all he did while with you, Commander?" Cadillac challenged.

            "What do you mean?" Harm asked, confused.

Reaching for a folder on his desk, Assistant Director Cadillac handed it to the judge.  "The intelligence agent in question that Commander Rabb dealt with to leave Russia in one piece was later discovered by CIA operatives to be working with the Chinese on undisclosed projects.  Mere coincidence, right, Commander?"__

Admiral Chegwidden fumed. "The defense requests a copy of this evidence to determine its authenticity."

Cadillac retorted, "That is classified information your honor. The CIA can attest to its authenticity."

"Request denied." The judge told Chegwidden. "Are you finished with this witness, Assistant Director?"

"Actually, I'm not, your honor." Cadillac replied, then turned to Harm once again. "Commander Rabb, is it true you have a brother?"

Admiral Chegwidden interrupted, "Objection, relevance."

"You'll see the relevance in due time, Admiral." Cadillac answered smugly.

"Overruled." The judge agreed, "But make relevance clear quickly."

"Yes, your honor." Cadillac said. "Commander, is it true you have a brother?"

Harm nodded, "I do."

"But, he's only your half-brother, am I correct?"

"Tell me... what is his other nationality?"

"He's... half Russian."

"I see." Cadillac mused. "Where is your brother now? I assume he's somewhere in America?"

Harm paused, glaring daggers at the Assistant Director. "No, he returned to Russia five months ago."

"That's what I had heard." Cadillac smirked, "Interesting thing to note. Two weeks after returning to Russia, CIA operatives discovered said brother of Commander Rabb's taking a position transferring diplomats between Moscow and Beijing. Strange how these coincidences work out, isn't it?"

Cadillac huffed out his chest, and concluded. "I think that speaks for itself your honor. I have no further questions."

Mac turned to Admiral Chegwidden, and asked, "So... how the hell are we supposed to respond to that?"

The Admiral shook his head slightly, and replied, "We can't... not just yet." Chegwidden stood, and in disgust spat, "The defense has no questions at this time."

Cadillac wasted no time calling his next witness. "The state calls Marine Colonel Sarah MacKenzie to the stand."

For a minute, Admiral Chegwidden considered objecting, but knew that it would get him nowhere in this case that had all the trimmings of a witch-hunt. So, he just silently fumed as Mac approached the witness stand.

"Colonel, is it true that you were raised by your uncle?" Cadillac asked, his gaze starting to resemble a lion leering at a fresh kill

"Yes."

"Could you tell the court where your uncle is now?"

Mac sighed, "He's in Levingsworth Prison."

"Why is that?"

"He was involved in the theft of one of the few original copies of the U.S. Constitution." Mac replied.

Cadillac nodded, "Is it true that you think the CIA is responsible for setting up your uncle to take a fall?"

Mac didn't answer right away, but eventually replied, "I suppose you could say that."

"Could you care to repeat just what you said in your report pertaining to the incident?"

Once again, Mac's mind raced to think of what to say.

Cadillac interrupted her by opening another one of his folders. "In case you do not remember, Colonel, I'll just read it straight from your report. 'In regards to the case of Matthew MacKenzie, it is my conclusion that the CIA baited him into stealing the copy of the Constitution, and that the U.S. Government is directly responsible for the unjust jailing of a man who meant no harm whatsoever to this country.' Do those words strike you as familiar, Colonel?"

"Yes..." Mac finally admitted.

Cadillac snapped the folder shut, and mused, "That sounds awfully, dare I say, un-American, Colonel. Don't you agree?"

"Objection!" Chegwidden shouted, visibly trembling in outrage, "The prosecution is judging intent."

"Withdrawn." Cadillac replied calmly. "I believe that we all know the answer to that question anyway."

In the spectator section, several JAG officers watched the proceedings with increasing dismay. Singer moaned softly, "Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb were just crucified up there."

Sturgis couldn't help but agree.  "This isn't even a court martial... it's the McCarthy Hearings Part Two."

Singer was surprised when Harrington suddenly stood, and motioned for her to let him out into the aisle.

"What are you doing, Major?" Singer asked as she complied.

Harrington looked at her, his face serious, his voice not reflecting any of his normal humor. "I need to check up on a few things." He answered cryptically. As he quietly slipped out the chamber, he added to himself, "This is far from over."

_CIA Headquarters, Washington D.C., 1415 EST_

"You don't get it, do you?" Webb replied with a disgusted sigh, "I hate this as much as you do, but the entire situation is _completely _out of my hands now. As far as the DCI is concerned, we've got our men, and we're going to pursue the full penalty for it."

"You know this entire court martial is a load of shit!" Harrington said in disgust.

''Funny… that's not what you said in Taiwan."

Harrington nearly throttled Webb. "New information presented itself to me. We know now who _really _was responsible for the leaking of secrets in Taiwan, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Colonel MacKenzie, and Commander Rabb."

"Yes, I've read the report you supplied to me, and if you ever decide to release it to anyone outside the government... let's just say, no one will ever find your body. The DCI will make sure of that." Webb explained in a hushed hiss, "Don't you understand? I _hate _this, with _a passion... _but the DCI needs a fall guy, or two, in this case. Something to tell your father that we're not going to stop pursuing him. Is it despicable? Yes. Does it make me sick to my stomach? _Hell _yes. Can I do a damn thing about it? Not at all."

"Why won't you, Webb?" Harrington pressed, "You defied your Director's orders once before when you thought he was out of line. Why not now?"

"Because last time, I wound up stuck in South America near Devil's Island for six months. This time, I wouldn't be near as lucky. Frankly, I rather like my job, and I like the opportunity I have to improve the system from the inside. However, I can't do that if I'm permanently removed from duty."

"So... I can't disclose any of the information I found, or risk the wrath of the CIA." Harrington said thoughtfully, "And you don't dare disclose it." His face drew glum, and he replied, "Then I guess I have no choice."

Webb knew what Harrington was talking about. The Major had mulled the idea over after discovering what really had been going on in Taiwan. "If you do this... your career is over, you realize that? You won't be able to do anything in your field ever again."

"Do I have much of a choice, Clay?" Harrington sighed in resignation. "It was the last option I had. I made a terrible mistake, and if this is what I need to do to correct that mistake, then I'll have to take it. What better way than to tell the entire world just how I screwed up?"

_JAG Headquarters, 2018 EST_

The mood in the bullpen was solemn, to say the least, overtime, hopelessness, and fatigue mixing in the people who dutifully continued to work, looking for something, _anything _that could turn this debacle of a case in their favor.

"It's like the court has decided they are guilty before it even came to trial." Bud muttered to himself.

"It's because they already have." Chegwidden affirmed. "They obviously didn't get the man they wanted, so they've set up two patsies to kick around to make themselves look good in front of the national spotlight."

"I knew it was out of character for the CIA to have every major news channel present in the court room." Sturgis said flatly. "This 'trial' has stunk from the moment it began."

"To that, you would have no arguments from any of us." Chegwidden answered with a sigh. "All right people, let's get back to work. Moaning about how this is unfair doesn't help Colonel MacKenzie or Commander Rabb."

The switchboard in front of Tiner's desk rang, and in his daze, he didn't answer it until the third ring. "JAG office, Petty Officer Tiner speaking... oh, hello, sir!" Tiner's left eyebrow raised slightly, and then he said, "Sure… he's right here."  Putting his hand over the mouthpiece, Tiner addressed his CO.  "Admiral, it's Major Harrington.  He says he has something to tell you… privately."

The Admiral took a deep breath, hope battling with realism. "I'll take it in my office, Petty Officer." The Admiral disappeared inside his office, leaving the rest of the bullpen to ponder the meaning of the call.

"I was wondering where Steve had disappeared to." Singer mused.

"Do you think Major Harrington found something we didn't?" Bud asked warily.

Singer shrugged passively; "I've seen him in action. He has a lot of contacts and sources for information beyond what a lawyer would normally have. He would probably the best one of all of us to have uncovered a juicy bone."

"But why would he feel the need to discuss it with the Admiral privately?" Harriet asked.

"Likely whatever he's uncovered is sensitive information, not fit for public ears." Sturgis answered. "Telling it to just the Admiral might garner him some heat as it is."

Admiral Chegwidden almost ripping the door to his office off its hinges interrupted further contemplation of the issue. Just ten minutes ago, he looked like a beaten, aged man. Now, he looked like he was ready to storm the shores of Vietnam all over again.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I do believe Major Harrington has just saved the careers of the Colonel and Commander."

_U.S. District Court, District of Columbia- 1000 EST, October 17_

"Are you ready to go?" Admiral Chegwidden asked his star witness. "You understand just what this will mean?"

"Yes, I do, Admiral." Harrington answered. "But if it keeps Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie from potentially facing the firing squad, it's what I have to do."

"All right, wait outside, and the bailiff will open the door once I call you inside." Admiral Chegwidden ordered then walked into the courtroom.

From behind Harrington, he heard the voice of Clayton Webb say, "You've got balls, I'll give you that. I don't think I'd be able to do what you're about to."

"Despite what I might have implied earlier, Clay." Harrington sighed, "You shouldn't have to. This was my mistake, and I'm going to correct it, by whatever means necessary." Harrington reached into his pocket, pulled out his ID tag, and fastened it to the left breast pocket of his suit.

Inside the courtroom, Admiral Chegwidden took his seat, the confident smile on his face not lost on AD Cadillac, nor the two accused.

"Just what does Major Harrington have, sir?" Harm asked, "Do you honestly think its good enough to change the inevitable outcome of this case?"

"Oh, I _know _it's good enough." Chegwidden assured. "I just would like you to thank Mr. Harrington for this. People like him don't just do this for anyone."

"What do you mean, 'people like him'?" Mac asked warily.

Admiral Chegwidden didn't answer, partially because the judge smacked her gavel to begin the proceedings.

"Admiral, has the defense prepared any witnesses to present?" The judge asked.

Chegwidden stood up, and replied proudly, "Only one, your honor.  The defense would like to call FBI Special Agent Steven Harrington to the stand..."

**End Episode 11**


	12. League Mandated Suspension

Author's Note:  Just to let you all know… this _isn't_ the last chapter in the least, merely the end of the first movement of sorts.  There's still a lot to come yet. 

2nd Author's Note: Yes… I quickly noticed the gibberish that ff.net vomited in place of my chapter.  It appears that halfway through the file, a content error corrupted what remained, and thus causing the problems.  I've had to rewrite the final 4 or 5 pages of the chapter to the best of my ability.  Why can't more servers just accept Linux formats?

Episode 12 League Mandated Suspension 

It was as if God had pressed the mute button, because not a sound could be heard in the courtroom as Harrington stepped inside.  Rather than the blue Air Force uniform that his co-workers had come to expect, he wore a gray business suit, white undershirt and black tie.  A white ID tag with "FBI" in blue letters on his chest pocket bore his picture and signature.

Sturgis looked questioningly at Singer, who shook her head, indicating that not even she had known of her friend's secret identity.  'Just when I thought I knew a person…' she thought to herself as Harrington was sworn in to testify.

With the traditional process complete, Chegwidden began his questioning.  "Would you please state your name and position?"

"Steve Harrington, Special Agent for the Undercover Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Harrington replied, as if he had gotten used to rehearsing that little piece of information.

"Agent Harrington, why were you sent to JAG?"

"The FBI had been receiving fragmented tips that a leak of sensitive government information was being leaked to unknown sources from the Judge Advocate General." Harrington responded, glancing at Harm and Mac nervously before adding, "I was sent to infiltrate the department, discover, and apprehend the leak of information."

"Did you find the leak, Agent?"

"I had thought so."

"Could you elaborate?"

Once again, Harrington looked apologetically towards the accused, and explained, "The briefing I had been given informed me to pay close attention to Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie… for many of the reasons that Assistant Director Cadillac revealed earlier in this trial."

"Had any of their actions during your assignment in JAG caused you to suspect them as potentially being guilty?"

"No, sir."

"Then what was the event that prompted you to order their arrest?"

Trying hard to ignore Mac's disbelieving stare, Harrington answered, "I had followed the pair to a beach in Taiwan, where it appeared they were confirming the arrival of a plane from the Chinese mainland, then followed them to the landing site where I discovered them searching the plane.  After the sudden death of CIA agent Christopher Carlson, I discovered that they had slipped out of the Embassy, and had left for an unknown destination."

"Is that when you called for CIA assistance?" Chegwidden asked.

"Yes.  And once it was discovered they had met with Randall Harrington, a suspected Chinese double agent, the man we had initially went to Taiwan to find, it made the case against them all the more damning."

"With that said, what brought you to contact me?" Chegwidden queried.

Harrington yet again silently apologized to Harm and Mac.  "I learned later that my conclusion was premature… and very wrong."

"How so?"

"I learned later from an anonymous source that Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had intercepted a message from Randall… addressed to me.  I later confirmed the tip when I saw the message itself.  The two officers had decided to meet with Randall on my behalf… knowing my personal feelings towards him."

"And what does this mean?"

"It means that the very reason that the Colonel and Commander were arrested was invalid, which makes the charges against them invalid as well."

The Admiral raised his right index finger.  "One last question, Agent Harrington.  Why do you think that your father, Randall Harrington, wanted to meet with you in Taiwan?"

"I can't be totally sure." Harrington admitted, "But I believe that it likely has something to do with what I discovered with further investigation in regards to the events in Taiwan.  For example… the person _really_ involved in the selling of intelligence and government secrets."

Cadillac leaped to his feet, almost in a panic.  "Objection!  He is about to reveal information of a _highly_ classified nature!"

Harrington coolly addressed the prosecuting advocate.  "Are you saying that you _know_ that there is more involved in this case than you told yesterday?"

The murmurs rose throughout the visitor's section, and Cadillac became painfully aware of the presence of tens of news cameras trained on the trial floor.  Eventually, the judge smacked her gavel three times, and demanded, "Counselors, my chamber… _now_.  Agent Harrington, you are to join us."

Judge Dermott's Chamber- 1017 EST 

            "All right… I suggest I get some answers about what Assistant Director Cadillac was objecting about, Major Harrington." The judge demanded testily.  She did not like sudden surprises in her courtroom, especially in these sorts of cases.

            "With all due respect your honor; AD Cadillac is correct, it is Level 3 Classified information." Harrington replied.  "However, I will tell you, and every single one of those reporters in the court room, unless the prosecutor agrees to a few terms."

            "What do you want?  After that stunt you just pulled, not even the DCI could save your career." Cadillac snorted.

            "It's not _my_ career I'm concerned with." Harrington replied.

            Admiral Chegwidden cut in, "We want all charges dropped against Colonel MacKenzie and Commander Rabb, as well as a formal apology from the CIA for falsely accusing them."

            "And re-neg on this entire trial?" Cadillac scoffed, "Forget about it."

            "All right… let's just see how the press likes what really happened in Taiwan." Harrington shrugged.  "If you want to destroy careers needlessly, hey, I can handle that."

            Cadillac quickly did a 180 as Harrington moved for the door.  "Wait!  Let's… not get too hasty here…  Just how much do you know about Taiwan?"

            "I'm sure you saw the case report, AD.  I saw it too, after I finished writing it, anyway." Harrington scowled.  "I know _everything_ involved, even the fact that DCI proceeded with this trial _after_ he knew the truth of the matter.  I'm giving your department a chance to back away with as little backlash as possible."

            "I'll… have to clear it with my superiors." Cadillac stammered.

            "Go right ahead." Harrington smiled viciously, "I'm a patient man."

_1040 EST_

            "In light of the new developments in the case of State vs. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie, and Commander Harmon Rabb… the prosecution wishes to drop all charges against them." AD Cadillac stated loud enough for the entire assembly in the courtroom to hear, although he obviously didn't like it.  "On behalf of the Central Intelligence Agency, I offer our humblest apologies."

            The judge sighed, visibly relieved just to have the entire debacle over with, and rapped her gavel.  "With that said, I declare the charges to be dismissed.  You are all free to go."

            Harm mused just what 'free to go' meant as he was mobbed by press, family, and friends from the moment he stood up, and all the way out to the courthouse lobby.

            "I knew you weren't guilty of anything." Trish stated.  She had taken an all night flight to Washington with her second husband the minute she had learned of Harm's arrest.  "And you too, Ms. MacKenzie.  You're both wonderful people who never deserved the treatment you got."

            However, Harm barely heard a word his mother had said, as another microphone was shoved under his nose from an overanxious reporter.  Swatting the invading piece of audio equipment away with his hand, he repeated for the eighteenth time, "No comment."

            "I'm just glad that Major… I mean… Agent… Harrington was willing to come forward." Bud sighed, "Had he not done that, you both would have been toast, sir." Flushing, he quickly turned to Admiral Chegwidden, and added hastily, "Not that you didn't do an _excellent_ job defending them, sir."

            Another microphone in his face prompted a much stronger, "_No_ _comment_!" from the Commander.  Looking around the crowded lobby, he had hoped to find the man responsible for saving his and Mac's sixes.  However, it was very likely that he had used all the commotion in the courthouse to slip away undetected.

_JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1144 EST_

            Harrington packed away all the items in his desk as fast as he could, not terribly caring how they fit, or even if some things got broken.  The only thing that mattered was getting it all together and vacated before anyone of the JAG officers returned.

            Stacking the three boxes he had filled on top of each other, he grabbed the bottom one, and lifted them all with a grunt of exertion.  The boxes blocked his vision, forcing him to occasionally look around them to avoid tripping on a step or other obstacle.

            He had reached the elevator, and pressed the call button.  A few floors… a hall, a parking lot, and he would be home free.  A high ping signified the elevator reaching his floor.  The doors slipped open, but before he could tell if anyone was inside, several voices indicated that there was.

            "Going somewhere, _Agent_ Harrington?" Harm asked wryly.

            "Shit…" Harrington muttered to himself.

            "Why don't you come out from behind all those boxes?  It'll make it easier for us to talk that way."

            Forcing himself not to swallow his tongue, Harrington sat down the boxes, and stood nervously in front of his former co-workers.  He tried to gauge their feelings from their facial expressions, but they all had their lawyer's faces pasted on.  'Not good.' He thought.

            His fears were confirmed when Mac leaped into action, sending a body shot right underneath his rib cage.  Harrington felt all the wind rush out of his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees gasping for the precious wind that had been forcibly removed from him.  Meanwhile, Sturgis and Harm had moved to restrain their fellow JAG officer.

            "Easy, ninja girl!" Harm grunted, sighing in relief as he felt the tension in Mac's shoulders ebb away.  "Steve… you okay?"

            "Yeah… just let me find my _lungs_." Harrington replied as Harriet helped him to his feet.  On his way back up, he noticed Singer standing in the back of the group, mostly hidden from view by her taller co-workers.  Thus he couldn't accurately gauge her expression, and it worried him.

            "I thought you were a friend, Agent Harrington." Mac accused, "I liked you… I trusted you… we _all_ trusted you.  And now, we learn that you called in the spooks to arrest Commander Rabb and I!"

            Harm had to admit that when Harrington testified for them, it had felt like Steve had shot him in the chest.  Hell, 10 minutes ago, Mac might have had to hold him back.  However, on the drive back to JAG, Harm had got to thinking about the sort of job Harrington had, and how hard it had to be.

            "What was I supposed to do, Colonel?" Harrington demanded.  "Do you think that I can just ignore my duty for the people I like?  You know I can't do that."

            "You're no better than Webb!" Mac spat.

            Finally, Harrington had enough of the accusations.  His eyes narrowed, and he snapped back, "Webb would have left you two to _hang_.  Now, if you don't mind… I need to leave."

            Harm sighed, and motioned for Sturgis to help.  Grabbing one of Harrington's boxes, Sturgis took another despite Harrington's quiet protest, and the three entered the elevator.  As he left, Harrington tried to get a good look at his former partner, but she slid around the perimeter of the group, avoiding eye contact.  With a pained sigh, he waved a swift goodbye to the assembled group of officers, and pushed the button for the ground floor.

            "So… what's going to happen to you now?" Harm asked.

            Harrington shook his head, "I have no idea… I'll probably be terminated."

            "Are you serious?"

            "I'm an undercover agent who just had his face plastered worldwide.  I'm not much use to the FBI that way."

            Harm shook his head. "You've ruined your life for our benefit… now I feel real guilty for letting Mac unload on you."

            "I haven't ruined my life, Commander.  Granted, my career as an FBI agent is over, but there are plenty of things I can do.  As for the Colonel, I can understand her anger."

            Sturgis cut in, "It takes a lot of guts to take responsibility for your mistakes like that.  It's ironic in a way, I think the FBI could use the sort of people they kick out."

            "So… what are you going to do now?" Harm queried as the elevator hit the ground floor.

            "I don't know." Harrington answered.  "I am a barred lawyer… so I could go into private practice.  Hell, if I'm lucky, and didn't piss off too many people, I could try to transfer onto the FBI's legal squad."

            "If that happens, I dread the day I ever have to go up against the FBI in court." Harm smirked, trying to lighten the mood.  Once in the parking lot, Harrington led them on as straight of a path as they could to his Jeep.

            After loading the vehicle, Harm said, "Take care of yourself, alright?"

            "I'll do my best, Commander."

            "The name's Harm, remember?  If you ever need anything… or if you want to visit sometime… I'm sure that Mac will be much less violent next time."

            "You sure about that… I mean… knowing what I did?"

            Sturgis interceded again, "As you said, what else were you supposed to do?  Sometimes the jobs we do force us to do things that we don't like, but we have to do them anyway.  I'm sure that everyone will realize that in time."

            "I hope so." Harrington smiled one of his notorious grins, then slipped into his Jeep.  "Whenever I see you again… it won't be soon enough." With one last wave, he pulled out of his parking spot, and out onto the street.

            Meanwhile, Lt. Commander Singer stared without any expression as Tiner and three of his fellow gofers started to move the now empty desk out her office.  It was ironic in a way, that when this had all started, she had complained about how small her office was to begin with.  Now it seemed too big… too empty.  She had turned off the lights to make it seem smaller… but she quickly realized that no lighting was going to cover the emptiness in question.

            "Are you all right, ma'am?" Tiner asked, trying not to sound overly concerned.  Hell, even he had seen how close Singer had been to the man who had just left, and despite the recent revelations, Tiner was worried that it hadn't been as simple for Singer to deal with.

            "I'll be much better once you get out of my office." Singer snapped tersely, bringing back memories of the old Lt. Singer.  Tiner's survival instincts kicked in, and his fellow officers moved with such speed that they nearly damaged the office door trying to get the desk out as fast as they could.

            Five minutes passed for Singer in what could be considered sulking.  When someone knocked on her door, she considered telling whomever it was to go away, but soon decided against it.  She had learned that in the bullpen, you'd eventually have to answer all the questions anyway.

            Harriet entered the darkened room, and asked sweetly, "Can I turn the light on?"

            "I like it the way it is." Singer grumped.

            Harriet smiled, barely visible through the light that filtered in from the bullpen.  "My, you really _have_ got it bad, haven't you?"

            "Got _what_ bad, pray tell?"

            Harriet turned on the light, and as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, Harriet had pulled up a chair, and propped her elbows on the desk across from Singer.  "I think you know what I'm talking about.  And I think you need to tell him."

            Singer shook her head.  "He lied to me, to all of us, Lieutenant.  We trusted him… I trusted him… and it turns out he was trying to ruin one of us.  I thought I knew him… I thought I knew…"

            "Maybe you still do."

            "What are you blabbering about, Lieutenant?" Singer growled in frustration.  She was in little mood for games.

            Harriet tapped the desk in thought, and replied, "When I served as an assistant to the IG, I had run into a few undercover operatives in my day.  The best cover is the one that they don't have to fashion."

            "You… think so?" Singer asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice.

            "I highly doubt that he was an FBI agent in college, and without having to worry about his cover any longer, I don't see why he won't be completely honest with you." Harriet retorted with a reassuring smile.  "But I think you need to tell him whatever it is on your mind.  Hell, you'll wind up like Colonel MacKenzie if you don't."

            That seemed to be the spark that lit Singer's fuse.  Hastily turning the files on her desk, Singer returned to them with a contained fervor, like she was trying to get them finished as quickly as possible without making errors.  "Thank you, Lieutenant.  You have been most helpful.  I suppose I shall take your advice, but after I am finished with my work."

            Harriet nodded, and with her duty done, left Singer's office.  That hadn't been too difficult.  Now if she could only get a couple other co-workers of hers to see what everyone else could…

_Gainsborough Court, Halifax, VA- 1717 EST_

            "Loren!" Harrington exclaimed as he opened the door to reveal his visitor.  "I'm rather surprised to see you here."

            "Why would that be?" Singer asked tautly, walking by Harrington as if appraising the apartment.

            Harrington rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, then said nervously, "Well… considering the way you were avoiding me earlier, I figured that you didn't want to see me."

            Singer whirled around to face him, stating simply, "I had some things to think about before I could talk to you." Softening her features slightly, she asked, "Have you heard from the FBI?"

            Harrington sighed, and answered, "I've… been put on indefinite leave until they can determine if I could be useful elsewhere.  Tomorrow I will request a transfer to the Legal Division, but that could take months to finalize."

            Finally, Singer got to the reason she was here.  "How long have you worked in the FBI?"

            Harrington smiled in understanding, "I figured that question would be coming.  Why don't we have a seat in the living room?"

            Singer allowed herself to be escorted, but quickly took a seat in Harrington's favorite leather recliner.  Deciding not to press the issue, Harrington sat down on the sofa across from her.

            He rested his elbows on his knees, and then propped his chin on his hands.  "I was first approached by the FBI five days after my accident, and went into their undercover training program the following week."

            "But why?" Singer asked, "You had a promising career for sure as a lawyer."

            Harrington nodded, accepting the fact.  "Probably… but they had a very convincing recruitment speech.  Did you know that my 'accident' wasn't really an accident?"

            Singer flatly asked,  "What do you mean?"

            "The Colonel in charge of the test flight intentionally had the engines of the Raptor tampered with, in order to allow for a test of the ejection system in a real-life scenario."

            "But that's…"

            "Unnecessarily dangerous and illegal." Harrington finished for her.  "However, the Colonel in question decided to mash several tests together in order to speed up the testing process for the F-22.  I guess he felt that he would somehow gain more notoriety if he could clear the Raptor for production in record time."

            "And learning that was what prompted your decision?"

            Harrington nodded, "I guess you could say I found my true calling.  The ability to be able to investigate for the truth, and not the watered down or glorified stories you hear in the courtroom."

            Suddenly, Singer's cel-phone rang.  Initially expecting it to be Harriet, checking up to see if Singer had gone through with what she had planned, Singer was quite surprised to hear a tenor voice rasp simply, "Hand the phone to my son."

            Singer's eyes went blank, and she handed the small device towards Harrington, explaining, "It's… your father.  He wants to talk to you."

            Harrington took the cel-phone, but obviously didn't wait for Randall to say anything.  "How dare you have the gall to call me here?  You sent my mother to her death, and just now you nearly destroyed the lives of two of my friends.  How many other people are you going to hurt before you decide you're done playing your sick little game?"

            Harrington paused only to catch his breath, not giving his father any chance to reply.  "I only have one more thing to say to you.  Consider it a warning.  You better _pray_ that the CIA finds you before I do, because if they don't, I'll make you wish you _had_ died 28 years ago."

            Harrington snapped the cel-phone shut angrily, and handed it back to Singer.  "Of course, the promise of chances to hunt down my father didn't hurt the FBI's case either."

            Singer suddenly smiled.  She needed to change the subject, and she knew the perfect way.  "I just want to know… those promises you made to me about not leaving… you meant them, right?"

            "Of course I did." Harrington answered, sounding almost insulted that Singer would even ask the question.  "I never actually lied to you or anyone in JAG.  I might have left certain facts out, but never once did I try to deceive anyone… especially you."

            "That's good." Singer retorted, her smile turning almost seductive as she left the chair to join Harrington on the sofa.  "Because, now that we are no longer co-workers… perhaps we can explore what we have a little further."

            Harrington couldn't help but return her grin, "Just what do you have in mind?"

            She brushed a light kiss across his lips, and said, "How about you make me dinner… and then we'll see just what _I_ can do for _you_."

            Noticing the look that Harrington gave her, Singer gasped, and slapped him on the shoulder.  "Get your mind out of the gutter, Agent Harrington.  We've got a ways to go before we're to that level… but I'm willing to start that journey."

            Harrington smirked as he stood up to move towards the kitchen.  "You know… maybe life after the FBI won't be quite so bad…"

**End Episode 12**


	13. Team Tryouts

Author's Note: Here comes the 2nd movement… a little bit of a teaser if you will.

2nd Author's Note: Due to many constraints on my time in the coming months, it is unlikely that I will be able to update this with any consistency.  Thus, if there is someone who would like to take over this fiction, I am willing to hear it out.  E-mail me at chemiclord@yahoo.com, and I can arrange to have the remaining story arc sent for perusal. 

Episode 13 

**Team Tryouts**

****

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C., 1204 EST, November 3 

            "I'm sorry, Agent Harrington, but Assistant Director Jansen's lunch meeting is running late." The secretary stated.

            Harrington glanced behind her towards the empty office that his direct superior normally resides in.  That's actually typical for Jansen.  "Well, I won't waste your time asking when he'll be back.  I know him far too well."

            "I'll make sure that you will be the first to know when he returns." The secretary said apologetically, "You'd think just once he'd be able to keep his appointments on schedule."

            Harrington smirked, and replied, "Thanks, Betty.  I'll be around the corner."

            Harrington stepped into the office space that for a brief time, he called his workspace.  He had never really had the chance to grow fond of the headquarters, since he had spent maybe a couple weeks of his brief tenure in the FBI here.  Judging from the lack of activity or even human bodies in the department, he could judge that most everyone else had the same issues.

            "Gee… look who's come back home begging for scraps." A familiar feminine voice teased.

            Harrington whirled around, and nearly rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing straight.  "Ronnie?  When did you get here?"

            "About two weeks ago.  It's ironic that I got the job of the person who got me sent to that purgatory called Interpol." The waiflike brunette replied smoothly.

            "If it hadn't been for me you would have been looking at 10-25." Harrington reminded.  "So, they've decided to give you another chance?"

            "They needed someone to replace you, and fast.  I guess I was the one they could most afford to bring back in." Ronnie shrugged.  "Hey, I need a smoke, come with me."

            Deciding he had nothing better to do, Harrington followed Agent Chapel to the smoking break room.  Like the rest of the department, the lack of activity was notable.  Ronnie wasted no time pulling a cigarette and lighter out of her pocket, pulling the smoldering paper to her lips with a satisfied sigh.

            "Haven't you learned your lesson?" Harrington asked.

            Ronnie looked insulted, and scoffed, "It's only a cigarette."

            "_Sure_ it is…"

            "Hey!" Ronnie stated, "With the random drug tests they're making me take, do you think I'd take that sort of risk?  Get real."

            "You know that stuff will kill you."

            Ronnie pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, regarded the object, and said, "Ironic isn't it?  The more dangerous product is the one that's perfectly legal.  Go figure."

            Harrington shook his head, "I'm not getting into this discussion again."

            "So… what does the boss want to talk to you about?"

            "Probably the transfer to the Legal Department I asked for." Harrington replied.

            "Maybe he's going to tell you that you didn't get it, but he was able to swing for an opening at Interpol in Seattle." Ronnie said with a teasing smile.

            "If he says that, I'll go into the private sector." Harrington replied.  He was about to explain further when his cel-phone interrupted him.  "One second, Ronnie…" He opened the device, and put it to his ear. "Hello?  Oh… hi, honey."

            "Honey?" Ronnie asked, her eyebrow lifting in query.

            Harrington held up a finger, requesting her silence, as he continued, "No… my superior is on a lunch meeting, and hasn't gotten back yet.  No, I haven't forgotten your uniform.  I'll pick it up from the cleaners after my meeting is over.  Yes, sweetie… I should be back to make dinner."

            "Sweetie?" Ronnie asked again.

            Harrington put his hand over the transmitter, and hissed, "Hush you."  Then he turned back to the person on the other end of the line.  "I love you too, dear.  See you tonight." Harrington disconnected, and slipped his cel-phone back in his pocket.

            Ronnie nearly pounced on him, "Honey?  Sweetie?  Dear?  Who's the girl that finally whipped you into shape?"

            "None of your business."

            "Is it that little blonde that works for the JAG office you went undercover in?  She _is_ kind of a cutie." Ronnie said slyly with one more pull of her cigarette.  "Does she know that you've been ring shopping?"

            "How on earth did you find out about that?" Harrington asked.  "Have you been following me?"

            "Not me…" Ronnie denied.   "I just happened to hear some of the office talk.  I guess one of the agents undercover at the D.C. Mall happened to see you shopping around jewelry stores, and making a purchase a few days ago.  They figured it had to do with the girl that you had been seen with frequently."

            Harrington shook his head in disbelief.  He should have known that there were no secrets among the agents in this division.  "All right, yes, I bought an engagement ring, okay?"

            Ronnie extinguished her cigarette, and leaned forward towards Harrington, her elbows propped on the table.  "So… when are ya gonna pop the question, you Casanova you?"

            Harrington shrugged, "When the time is right.  I'd rather wait and see if I actually have a position here before I decide to proceed with any commitments.  I probably shouldn't have bought the ring at all… but it looked perfect for her."

            "Do you have it with you, can I see it?" Ronnie begged.

            With a resigned sigh, Harrington pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket, and handed it to Ronnie.  She opened the box, and audibly gasped at the sight; a platinum ring with inlaid small carat diamonds in a starburst pattern.  "Are the stones real?"

            "Of course they are." Harrington scoffed at the very idea he'd purchase imitation.  "And that is real platinum as well."

            Ronnie smirked playfully, but before she could say anything else, AD Jansen's secretary popped her head into the break room.  "There you are, Agent Harrington.  AD Jansen just arrived, and is ready to speak to you."

            "Oh… thanks, Betty.  I'm on my way." Harrington replied, "I guess we'll chat more some other time, Ronnie."

            Assistant Director Jansen had the look of a man who had already had a long day… and it was barely past noon.  "At this rate, I'm not going to have any hair by dinnertime.  Have a seat, Agent Harrington."

            Harrington complied, and Jansen got right down to business.  "Well, the Legal Department has just gotten back to me regarding your request for transfer.  It has been accepted, pending a tryout of sorts."

            "How so?" Harrington asked.

            "Director Nimitz of the Legal Department will contact you within the hour with more details.  What I can tell you is that there is more than a legal trial that you'll be involved in."

            Harrington shook his head, trying to figure out just what his superior was trying to say.  "Can you at least give me the poignant details?"

            "I'd be glad to." An all too familiar voice said from the doorway.

            Harrington didn't need to see who it was.  Dropping his head in his left hand, he asked, "Is it too late for me to request a transfer to Interpol?"

            Webb ignored the quip, and replied, "Two FBI agents in Hawaii were boating out the Naval Base in Pearl Harbor.  According to initial reports, a Navy destroyer engaged the small craft, and destroyed it, killing the agents."

            "Why?" Harrington asked.

            "The Navy claims that the agents were told to stand down, and leave the vicinity, but didn't comply.  Assuming the boat to be a terrorist threat, the destroyer went into defensive procedures.  It wasn't until after the incident that it became revealed the boater's identity."

            "So… what's my role in all this?"

"The CIA suspects that the agents were undergoing… extracurricular activities, most notably gathering information about the Naval Base for potential sale to less than favorable sources.  While you are prosecuting the case, it will give me a cover to investigate these allegations."

"I see… and you went along with this?" Harrington asked the Assistant Director.

"It was Director Nimitz's call.  The way I see it… this is your one chance to stay in the FBI, Agent Harrington.  I would be careful." Jansen answered.

"Understood." Harrington replied.

"Mr. Webb, can you give Agent Harrington and myself a minute?"  Webb nodded, and stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him.  Now alone, Jansen said, "There's something I would like you to do while your prosecuting.  I want you to watch Webb as carefully as you can."

"Is there a reason for this?"

"It has become painfully obvious these last months that the nation can't trust the CIA to clean up their own messes.  I am wary of this entire mission, and can't help but think that the CIA is trying to shift some of the heat off themselves."

Harrington nodded, "That sounds like Central Intelligence."

"That's why the Legal Department has chosen you, I think.  You have something to prove, and you have experience working with Mr. Webb.  Anyway, good luck, Harrington.  You've been one of my best agents, and I'd hate to see you out of the Bureau.  Good luck."

Harrington stood, and had to fight the urge to salute.  He'd spent way too much time undercover.  "Thank you." With that, he left the Assistant Director's office.

Webb was waiting for Harrington right outside the office.  "Did the Assistant Director tell you to spy on me?"

"Of course." Harrington replied with a sigh, "He thinks that the CIA might be trying to shove some of the problems they're having on the FBI."

Webb frowned, "As much as I hate to say it… that wouldn't be above us.  I do believe that _something_ suspicious happened out there, and it wasn't just simple miscommunication."

"For once… I agree with you."

JAG Headquarters, Falls Church, VA- 1330 EST 

            "Colonel, Commander, Lt. Commander." Chegwidden nodded to Mac, Harm, and Singer as they entered his office.  "I've decided to send the three of you on a nice long trip to Hawaii."

            The three blinked warily, waiting for the Admiral to explain further.  "There was a miscommunication between a Navy destroyer and an FBI investigative pair outside of the Naval Base in Pearl Harbor.  The FBI has pressed charges against the Commanding Officer of the Destroyer, Captain John Francis."

            Singer gasped in shock.  Noting this, Admiral Chegwidden asked, "Is something wrong, Lieutenant Commander?"

            Singer paused nervously, and asked, "Does the file mention who the prosecutor for the FBI is?"

            Chegwidden smirked as he handed the file to Colonel MacKenzie.  "Let's not let the cat out of the bag just yet, Lt. Commander."

            Mac looked suspiciously at Singer and Chegwidden.  They knew something… something that Mac learned the moment she opened the folder.

            "Prosecuting Attorney… Special Agent Steven Harrington?" Mac yelped.  Harm looked over her shoulder to confirm for himself.

            "He called me… about a half hour ago, saying that he couldn't pick up my uniform from the cleaners because he had been ordered to travel to Hawaii by the FBI Legal Department." Singer said.

            "Well… I've been wanting to see what he's been up to." Mac stated, "Looks like my questions have been answered."

            The Admiral ordered, "You three leave at 1700.  Good luck, you just might need it.  I don't think I need to explain just how good your opponent is this time."

_Pearl Harbor Naval Base, Hawaii- 1015 HST, November 4_

            The three JAG officers arrived at the Headquarters of the Admiralty, only to find someone already in the reception area.

            "I was wondering when Admiral Chegwidden would send my opponents." Harrington stated smoothly.  "I'm not sure whether to be complimented that he sent his best to go against me… or depressed that I might lose because of it."

            "I take it you're here to interview Captain Francis." Harm commented.

            "Obviously." Harrington replied.

            "We could save time, and have all four of us interview him at once." Mac smirked.

            "That's a little unconventional, don't you think?"

            "Not really.  I've had interviews with the opposing attorney present before.  It really does save time." Mac assured, glancing Harm's way, "Besides, we want to get to the bottom of this as much as you do."

            Singer finally spoke.  "I think what the Colonel is trying to say is that while we may be opponents, we don't have to be enemies."

            Harrington smiled one of his signature grins, "Well, that's good.  I don't know if I'd be able to handle being enemies with you people." He then added, "I don't want to get hit again."

            "Then you better make sure you don't win." Mac teased, "I get angry and belligerent when I lose."

            Harrington shook his head, "If only I didn't know better than that, Colonel."

            At that moment, the receptionist, a young male Navy ensign, spoke over the intercom between the panels of bulletproof glass.  "Agent Harrington, Captain Francis is ready for questioning."

            Harrington glanced over to the three JAG officers and said, "Actually, I think the four of us are going to question him together, as I understand it."

            The receptionist blinked twice, then passively shrugged, "Very well."  He buzzed open the door to the detention center, and the four lawyers made their way inside.


End file.
